


The Prickly Spines of Love

by Ficlet_Sprinkler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Case Fic, Crime Scenes, Fluff, Hedgehog John Watson, Hedgehogs, M/M, Mind Palace, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes on a Case, Sherlock is an emotional cutie, Slow Burn, Smart John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ficlet_Sprinkler/pseuds/Ficlet_Sprinkler
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a lonely teen, whose only friend is his pet hedgehog: John.Until one day, he visits the vet for a check-up... and his life is changed forever.//FINISHED ♡
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 199
Kudos: 229
Collections: Sherlock Author Showcase 2020





	1. You're the only one who understands me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisa4Language](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisa4Language/gifts).



> This fanfiction was inspired by a prompt on Twitter by @Ionelywatson ♡
> 
> This was also a first draft of the story, so feel free to give me constructive criticism or (kindly!) point out inconsistencies! 
> 
> Enjoy the story! :)

Sherlock picks up his hedgehog and looks into his bright blue eyes. The animal looks up with eyes so cute, that it would shatter anyone’s heart.

Luckily, Sherlock doesn’t have a heart.

“No, we’re not getting food again! I just fed you!”

The hedgehog looks down sadly, and for a moment, Sherlock almost feels sorry for his pet.

Just for a moment.

Sherlock sighs and places the animal back down.

“Really, John, you’ve got to try harder than that. I am not eating today, regardless of your cute face.”

The hedgehog makes a grumpy noise and jumps (correction: _falls_ ) off Sherlock’s lap. He casually walks over to the fridge, as if telling Sherlock that if he doesn’t get food for himself right now, he will get it for him.

Which is absurd, because he’s a hedgehog and hedgehogs can’t open fridges.

Sherlock huffs and walks over to the kitchen.

“Fine. But only because I don’t want you to freeze here, next to the fridge.”

He scoops up John with one hand and opens the fridge. 

What to have today…

//

Sherlock eats his dinner, with a content hedgehog resting on his lap. He can’t help staring at his pet. He is bloody adorable. Or, at least, a lot more interesting than his food.

He sighs and whispers, careful not to wake John up:

“I suppose I’m lucky to have you. Without you, I probably wouldn’t eat for at least 3 days.”

Sherlock smiles slightly, before picking up his chemistry book and flicking it through.

His slim fingers turn over page after page, but nothing in the book seems to interest him.

“Dull, dull, dull…” he gives a frustrated sigh, before putting the book down again altogether.

Why did he choose to study Chemistry if he already knows everything? 

But he knows that isn’t true. He didn’t choose to study. No, after finishing high school, all Sherlock wanted to do was go out into London and solve crimes. He wanted to be a detective.

But Mummy forced him to go to university. With the promise that it would ‘cure his boredom’ and ‘let him make friends’. Sherlock huffs at the thought. 

Friends… who ever thought that was a good idea?

//

RING. RING. RING. RIIIIING

Sherlock groans and turns off his alarm.

Another bloody day.

He swings his legs off of his bed and gets up. John would start pacing with hunger any time now. He quickly gathers John’s food in his arms, and sure enough: when he enters the living room, he sees John pacing back and forth his cage, waiting for his food to arrive.

“Here you go, John,” he says, his voice still groggy with sleep.

As he watches John eat, his own stomach starts to rumble. 

_ Might as well eat too _ , he figures. 

He fixes himself some morning tea, and a simple bowl of cereal. He manages to flick through his chemistry book for long enough to understand what today’s topic will be, before quickly cleaning up and leaving for school. 

Another bloody day.

//

Sherlock comes home early, to the surprise of his hedgehog. 

John immediately runs over to Sherlock and starts walking in circles around his feet. Sherlock chuckles.

“Hello there, John. Did you have a good day, without me? You better not have!” Sherlock gently picks up his pet and puts him down on the kitchen table. He sits down in front of him and starts to talk about his day. 

This was their routine: Sherlock would get home from university, usually a bit grumpy from the boring lectures, he and John would sit down at the table, and Sherlock would complain about everything that happened during his day.

“Today was a disaster, John. Really. The lecturer, Mr Becker, was being annoying because I was late. So, naturally, I started doing deductions about him. You know, the simple ones. The fact that he was recently divorced with a wife that didn’t even love him, that he had been struggling with losing weight, that he only became a teacher because he wasn’t good enough to become a scientist of his own…” John tilts his head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Those are simple deductions; anyone could see that! Anyone who’s not an idiot…”

John makes a grumpy noise. “Oh, don’t worry; practically everyone is.

“Anyways. Even though I was telling him the truth, he got really angry with me and sent me home. I swear, John, you should’ve seen the look on his face. He was furious. ...But, to be honest, I’m glad he sent me home. His lecture was boring, and I’d much rather be home with you anyway.

“You’re the only one who understands me.”

//

Sherlock wakes up with a vague recollection of how he ended up here. He was laying on the couch, with John sleeping on his chest. He quickly does his deductions. There is an empty bowl next to him, but the crumbs at the bottom and the faint smell of paprika on his fingers reveal that he had been eating crisps. He notices the mug on the coffee table next to him and reaches out to touch it. Still warm; so he hadn’t been asleep for long. 

Perhaps the most telling thing around him, however, is the little box with needles next to him. Just the sight of the needles and the tiny vessels filled with 7 percent solution cocaine and morphine are enough to make him remember. 

He had been bored yesterday. A bit too bored. He had hugged John tightly, but it hadn’t been enough. He needed more.

His hedgehog has always been able to convince him to take better care of himself, but not with this. Which makes sense. How could a hedgehog possibly know that drugs are bad for Sherlock, if after using it he always looked so at peace? John must have thought the drugs were good for Sherlock. Even Sherlock thought that too, sometimes. But deep down, he can’t fool himself. His drug habit isn’t a good thing. Case in point; he had just missed about one hour in his memory. He really has to take better control over his mind. 

Maybe someday.

Sherlock swings his long legs off the couch, careful not to wake up his pet, and stands up. He gently puts John in his bed, and stares lovingly at him. He is curled up, all warm and cosy in his bed. He has got to admit, his pet is adorable. Sherlock is so glad he has John. 

Just a week ago, Sherlock put John outside for a few moments, to give him some fresh air. But Sherlock got distracted, and before he knew it, John was out of sight. He couldn’t find him anywhere. He had looked everywhere: under the bushes, between the grass, in holes… He even looked in the trees. Not many people know that hedgehogs can climb trees, but Sherlock knew; and his John was the best climber of them all.

But he didn’t see him. How could he have been so stupid? He should have been watching him, but as ever, his mind got distracted.

He had returned home, defeated, after searching for hours. He called the police (even though he knew they would be out of their depth) and texted all the people who owed him a favour. He couldn’t sleep all night, worried about his hedgehog. Hedgehogs need a regulated temperature, for they are very likely to have hypothermia. And the cold London air won’t make that any better.

He was about to jump out of his bed to start searching again - which would have been a bad idea, because it was already pitch-black outside - when his phone started ringing.

Someone had found his hedgehog.

Sherlock was over the moon, and immediately went to get John and warm him back up.

And the rest is history. 

Ever since that gruesome day, Sherlock holds on tight to his hedgehog. After he felt what it would be like losing his best friend, even for that brief moment, he never wanted to feel it again. 

While Sherlock thinks back, his eyes go over his precious pet. John is still asleep, but it doesn’t seem like he is comfortable anymore. He is breathing heavily, his belly moving up and down rapidly. As soon as Sherlock notices this, he picks up John and wakes him up. 

“John? John, are you alright?”

Sherlock puts his hedgehog down on the ground. John wobbles on his feet and falls over. 

“John!”

Sherlock picks him back up and cradles him in his arms. He is not a doctor. He does not know what to do. He quickly searches John’s body to look for any signs. If only he would have remembered what to do… 

And then; there. Sherlock finds a red spot on John’s left leg. It is hardly visible -unless you’re really looking for it-, but it’s there.

Motivated by his findings, he scrambles up, throws on his coat, and runs.

////

Sherlock rushes into the vet office, his breath heavy and panting from the long run.

“Oh, can I help you?” the man at the help desk asks. The man looks kind, with a round face, glasses, and kind-hearted eyes. Sherlock quickly does his deductions - 32 years old, owns a golden retriever, recently gained a lot of weight, studied to be a doctor, became a vet - but Sherlock quickly stops his brain from letting the deductions flow. There are more important matters at hand.

“Yes, please. My hedgehog- I believe he may be ill,” Sherlock stated, rushing to the desk with the animal in his arms. 

The man looks at him curiously for a brief moment, probably thinking, ‘why did this man run all the way here?’, but his expression quickly wavers, and turns into a compassionate smile.

“All right, we’ll run some basic tests to see what’s going on. I’m doctor Stamford. And you are…?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” he responds quickly.

Stamford chuckles. 

I meant; what’s his name?” He points at the hedgehog in Sherlock’s arms,

“His name is John.” 

Sherlock says the name, as if it is the most valuable thing in the world.

“Ah, what a coincidence! We’ve got an intern here with the same name.” The man turned around and spoke to the figure in the hallway: “Hey, John! We’ve got an animal here with your name!”

The figure, turning around curiously now, faces Sherlock.

//

And there he was.


	2. You're the best chance I've got

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where we last left off:  
> Sherlock took his hedgehog, John, to the vet. At the vet, there was apparently an intern working there, who was also named John...

“So this little man is called John, too?”

Sherlock blinks at the figure standing before him. He hasn’t quite heard what he said. For some reason, Sherlock is incredibly captivated by him. Deductions keep flowing in:

Doctor, vet, first week in town, intern, looking for a place to live… military man.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The words are out before he can help it. Oh god, why does he have to embarrass himself whenever he meets new people? This man must think he is -

“Amazing!”

Sherlock’s eyes shoot up.

“Excuse me?”

“Amazing! I was in the army, in Afghanistan. How did you know that?”

Sherlock squints and looks into the intern’s bright blue eyes. 

“I just… noticed.”

“That’s really smart.” The intern smiles at Sherlock. “My name is John,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock responds hesitantly. He is a bit nervous to shake John’s hand, but thankfully he doesn’t have to.

Doctor Stamford coughs.

“So, I’ll be examining John then. I see there’s a spot on his leg -”

“Yes.” Sherlock responds without taking his eyes off John. The intern, that is.

Doctor Stamford nods and takes John to an examining room.

Sherlock follows them with his eyes now. He doesn't want to leave his hedgehog. He isn't comfortable having him out of his sight. Apparently, all this shows on his face, because John says reassuringly, “They’ll be fine, you know. Mike’s a great vet.” 

Sherlock nods quietly, but he doesn't really believe it. This is too much to bear. He needs a distraction.

He looks at John and smiles.

“You asked me how I knew about Afghanistan.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“It’s simple, you see. You have a short military haircut, and the way you hold yourself in a room says 'military' all over. Speaking of your stance: you own a walking cane. I’d say you’re around 18 to 19 years old. Bit young for a walking cane, don’t you think? You have a limp, which you acquired in the army. The limp is at least partly psychosomatic, seeing as you aren’t sitting down at work and seem to almost have forgotten about it. Your surprised look when I mentioned the cane confirms my theory. Now, Afghanistan. You have a tan, but the tan does not show below the wrist; therefore you have been abroad, but not sunbathing. A faraway country, where they accept young people to serve, a hot and sunny country, ominous threat looming, yet sending its soldiers back when they only have a psychosomatic limp… must be Afghanistan, or Iraq.”

Sherlock takes a breath and prepares himself for the hit, the inevitable mocking of his strange remarks.

“Fantastic!”

Once again, Sherlock is surprised.

“You think so?”

“Yes, it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.”

Sherlock can’t help but smile at this. 

“That’s not what people usually say.”

John tilts his head curiously.

“What do people usually say?”

“Piss off.”

Sherlock grins and John joins in. John’s face lights up as if it was the best joke he’s heard in a long time.

Sherlock catches himself admiring John’s smile. He has never seen such a smile, especially not in reaction to something  _ he _ has said.

His daydream is interrupted by Mike Stamford, who returns from the examining room with John in his arms. 

“Mr Holmes, I’ve examined your hedgehog. Some of the tests take a little longer to process, so I’ll send you the results later today. Meanwhile, you can go ahead and take him home.”

Sherlock rushes to his pet, instantly checking his breathing, ascertaining that he is all right.

He looks up carefully at Doctor Stamford’s face, and nods. He whispers a quick "Thank you" before picking up his pet.

“Wait, um-” John takes a step forward towards Sherlock, before he can leave. 

He looks down at his feet as if they have betrayed him before continuing:

“You should write down your number. In case the test results reveal something urgent.”

John frowns at his own words.

Sherlock fights back a smile and swaggers over to John.

He takes a pen, holding his hedgehog with his left hand, and writes down his number on the paper that John offers him.

He gives the piece of paper to John, their hands briefly touching. A shiver runs along Sherlock’s back, but he doesn’t let it show. 

Without saying anything else, he walks over to the door, winks at John, and leaves.

//

Sherlock rushes into his apartment, closes the door behind him, and rests his back against it. 

_ What did he just do? _

He rakes a hand through his hair, while he recollects the events that happened earlier. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright when he thinks back.  _ Did he just give a boy his number? _

He shakes his head. No, it wasn’t like that. The vet just needed his number, to call him in the case of an emergency.

But the way the teen had looked at him, his hands shaking while he handed him the piece of paper, his hesitancy when he asked him for his number… All the signs point to the obvious.

A cute boy has just asked him for his number.

Sherlock lets out a noise of a kind which he was unaware that he could even make. His hedgehog looks up at him, confused at the noise which sounded almost like a fangirl squealing.

Sherlock quickly puts down his pet, making sure he’s safe, before jumping up and down in joy.

“Brilliant! A cute army doctor and now a number. Oh, it’s Christmas!”

He gives John a quick scratch under his chin, before heading over to the kitchen and preparing a celebratory cup of tea for himself.

While the kettle boils, Sherlock’s mind does the same. Millions of thoughts race through his head. He hasn’t felt this alive in years! He keeps thinking back to John’s look, his compliments, his eyes… 

No. Don’t get distracted, Sherlock. You came to the vet to help your hedgehog. John… He suddenly realises he hasn’t checked up on his pet at all after his visit to the vet.

Guilt overtakes the feelings of excitement, and Sherlock immediately walks back over to John.

He picks him up, the spines softly poking the palms of his hands. But he doesn't mind. He brings the hedgehog’s face close to his, and stares into his eyes.

“I’m sorry I forgot about you for a bit,” he says softly. “I can imagine you need some love -” Sherlock winces at the word - “as well. Here, let me see your leg.”

He deftly turns the animal around in his hand, and examines his hind leg.

The tiny legs feel fragile under his large hands, the puny feet struggling to keep their balance.

“Looks like the spot is still there… But the doctor said it wasn’t that bad. I suppose we’ll see for ourselves, when we visit the vet again for the results…”

Sherlock’s mind seems to wander again at the mention of the vet. His brain races out of control; his heart beats a quick, steady rhythm at the thought of the intern. He even seems to hear a high-pitched noise in his mind. Annoying. Why is it there-

Until John starts to respond to the noise. So it isn't in his head? What-

“OH! The kettle!” Sherlock exclaims, and he runs over to the kitchen to turn it off.

Sherlock lets out a sigh of relief when he finally sips his tea. Too much happened today; he needs to blow off some steam. 

So he blows off the steam coming off his hot cup of tea, and drops down in his trusty armchair. The soft cushions welcome him with open arms, and soon he is so comfortable that he cannot imagine ever getting up from that chair. John seems to have got the message as well, as he’s snuggled into Sherlock’s arms, warm and cosy.

“Oh John, if I didn’t have you,” Sherlock speaks softly. “I honestly wouldn’t know what to do.”

The hedgehog in question purrs, nuzzling deeper into Sherlock’s arms.

Sherlock’s mind flies back to the teen he had met that day. He doesn't know why, but he has a feeling that that man could be a quite important piece of his puzzle. He has never felt this way about a fellow human before.

And he can't wait to experience it again.

//

John stares at him from across the table.

Sherlock stares back.

“I’m really sorry, John, but I don’t have a choice.”

The hedgehog grunts at him.

“I know you don’t like it. But please… I  _ need _ you.”

John turns his back on Sherlock, showing his displeasure with the idea.

Sherlock turns him back around to face him, and brings his face close to his pet’s.

“We are going back to that vet, whether you want it or not. I need an excuse to see your namesake again. And you’re the best chance I’ve got.”

He picks up his pet carefully, but thankfully he remains unpricked by his spines.

“Thank you,” he says under his breath, before putting him in the travel carrier and pulling on his coat.

//

He arrives at the vet with a sense of unease. He peeks through the window, and gathers his courage to open the door.

“I can still go back home now. I can still pretend this never happened. This plan was insane anyway. I should just-”

He hears a grunt come from the pet carrier in his hand.

“Okay, you’re right. I brought you all the way here. Might as well…”

Sherlock gently pushes open the door to the veterinarian waiting room.

A few people give him an uninterested glance, but most people in the waiting room don’t even acknowledge his presence.

Good. He doesn’t like it when people stare at him.

The waiting room smells funny. Sherlock picks apart all the different scents from all the different animals that had visited this room. Hedgehog, two -no, three- teacup pigs, a seemingly uncountable amount of cats and dogs… But Sherlock counts them anyway. He distracts his mind from the giant underlying fact of why he is here. He cannot face that right now. Feelings… Not his strong suit.

“Mr Holmes?”

Sherlock turns his head toward the sound, momentarily confused about where he is and what’s happening. “Yes?” he responds, squinting his eyes at the figure before him.

His mind catches up with him, and he realises it’s Doctor Mike Stamford.

“Back again?”

“Well, yes. You see, John -the hedgehog- has more issues…” he stammers. “And I’ve also come because…” He looks away and furrows his brow.  _ Didn’t he have an excuse? _

“Have you come for the test results?”

_ Saved by the bell. _

“Yes! That.”

“Well, I’m afraid those test results haven’t come back yet. But the results that  _ have  _ arrived lean towards a good outcome. I wouldn’t worry too much, Mr Holmes; I believe your hedgehog is fine. And I can confirm that if you come back tomorrow at 9…”

Sherlock nods along to the doctor’s narrative, but isn’t really paying attention. His eyes have locked onto the person who has just come in.  _ Short, straw-blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing a lab coat… _

John.

Apparently, Sherlock has been staring at the figure while his thoughts race on, and Dr Stamford has noticed.

“...But, it doesn’t seem like you’re worried. I believe your intentions are entirely different.”

Sherlock’s head snaps back to the doctor at those words. 

For a moment, he doesn’t know what to say. But it seems like no words are necessary; Doctor Stamford has already deduced everything he needs to know.

“He’s on a break in 5 minutes. If you wait for a moment, you’ll get a chance to…  _ talk _ .”

He gives Sherlock a knowing look, before turning around and offering help to another person in the waiting room.

Five minutes. Sherlock checks his watch. Five minutes from now, it’s… 11 am.

He can do that. Just five minutes.

He sits down nervously, suddenly aware of all the people around him, and puts the travel carrier on his lap. He stares at John in his enclosure, and hugs the carrier close to his body.

He tries to distract his mind from all the people in the room.

_ They’re probably staring at me. _

_ No, distract. Think of… bees? _

_ Bzz… bzz… bees… take pollen from flowers… Bzz… _

_ Ok this is stupid. _

Sherlock looks around, desperate for a different distraction. His gaze catches the intern again.

_ Soft hair, blue eyes, like the sea… Surprisingly ripped under that white coat; he must work out… _

Sherlock shakes the thoughts away and curses himself for thinking like that.

He looks around the waiting room. New deductions. Calms himself down.

The woman with the black and white cat recently went through a divorce, easily recognisable by the colour difference on her left ring finger. Recently-bought dress, and judging by how expensive it appears and the way she looks almost ashamed to wear it, she has been shopping extensively to take her mind off things. 

Take his mind off… John… Everyone staring… Thinking he’s a freak.

Sherlock quickly moves on to the next person, a bald man with a parakeet chirping in its cage behind him.  _ Keeps checking the clock, wearing a well-worn fancy suit, could do with a new one but… Lack of money. Worried glances at his bird. _

Conclusion: Late for an important job interview, but cares too much about his pet to skip the vet appointment.

Contented, Sherlock is about to move on to the next person in line, when he realises that this girl is already staring at him.

She looks away shyly when his gaze meets hers. 

He frowns, but before he gets the chance to say anything, he hears a familiar voice.

“Back again, are you?”

He quickly looks at the man standing in front of him, and he almost drops John's carrier in reaction. John the intern quickly moves a hand in front of the carrier to stop it from falling.

_ Excellent reflexes. _

“Yeah, I’m back, here, in this vet. My hedgehog,” Sherlock blabbers, frowning at his own sudden inability to form proper sentences.

If John has noticed the strange phrasing at all, he doesn't show it. 

“So, what brings you here? The test results aren’t back for at least another day,” he says, a curious smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.

_ I’m here to see you. _ Sherlock gulps at the harsh truth. No; he can’t possibly say that.

“I didn’t realise the results would take that long. I suppose I should be going again, then.”

He gives John a quick, polite smile, before quickly gathering his things and making for the exit.

“Wait,”

Sherlock turns around, and notices John quickly walking towards him.

He feels his neck start to sweat, but he doesn’t move.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” John asks.

Sherlock stares down at John, bemused by the sudden question.

He manages a quick nod in response, before turning on his heel and leaving.

As soon as the door closes behind him, he can’t help the grin spreading across his face.

_ Brilliant. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Lisa4Language for being my beta this chapter. She did a terrific job!  
> And, thank you too! Yes, you! Thank you for reading this. This story really means a lot to me and it means a lot that you're here to read it :)  
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments. I love comments! <3  
> Have a lovely day :)


	3. Please, let him be okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock thinks over his feelings for the handsome intern.

John nudges Sherlock’s shoulder. He starts grunting at Sherlock, waking Sherlock from his slumber.

“Johnhog, what is it?” he mumbles, his mind still half-asleep.

The hedgehog lets out a huff, the sound similar to that of a miniature locomotive train.

Sherlock cracks open one eye.

He sighs and rubs his eyes. “Oh, you’re hungry.”

While John eats his food, the loud crunching overpowering the room with occasional happy sniffs, Sherlock rants about his thoughts.

“It seems like you’re doing much better. I probably shouldn’t even bother to pick up those test results. But then again…” Sherlock’s heart flutters when he thinks of John again.

“...I suppose I could go. Just in case. What do you think, John?”

John doesn’t even look up, his entire being focused on his food.

Sherlock sighs.

He looks up, and lets his eyes peruse the room. His apartment is pretty large, especially for a student living by himself, though it is hard to tell because of the clutter. Every inch of the floor is covered with papers and books. Random newspaper scraps about murders can be seen spread across the table and the floor, with little notes in the corners about the identity of the perpetrators..

The walls are covered with an ugly wallpaper, which has been discoloured and burnt in places by all the experiments Sherlock has done. 

Not to mention all of his hedgehog’s stuff. John owns about three beds, a cage, a carrier, stuffed toys, and bags of food. All of which are spread around the flat. He wonders what John would think of his home.  _ What if he would hate it? _

Sherlock cannot stop thinking about John. His mind races with the possibilities, all of the ‘what if’s. He starts absentmindedly picking up things from the floor, trying to distract his mind. Before he knows it, he’s cleaning up the entire apartment, all while ranting to his hedgehog.

“It isn’t fair! I was doing so well-” he thinks about that for a second, “- okay, maybe not  _ that _ well… But, at least we had it great here. We had each other as company. What am I saying, we still do…” John looks at him curiously, waiting for him to get to the point. “What I believe I’m trying to say is… That I’ve never…  _ felt  _ this way before. I don’t really know what’s going on.” Sherlock lets out a sigh and drops into his chair.

“I don’t like not knowing,”

///

Sherlock looks around his apartment, satisfied with the amount he was able to clean up. All the clutter that was there before has now been stowed away: the scraps of paper put neatly in a folder, the books stacked on the bookshelves, John’s food put away in cupboards. 

“Now it’s clean enough for people to visit,” Sherlock mumbles to himself.

“For who to visit?”

Sherlock jumps at the sudden voice behind him. He turns around to face a man leaning on an umbrella, around the same height as Sherlock, though at least 7 years older. 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock greets, not a hint of delight in his tone.

“Sherlock,” the man, Mycroft, responds. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Sherlock bites.

Mycroft sighs and walks past Sherlock into the kitchen, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the smoldering experiments. 

“I thought I’d visit. Bit of brotherly compassion.”

“We don’t  _ do  _ brotherly compassion, Mycroft,” Sherlock interrupts him, “So tell me: why are you really here?”

Mycroft straightens his back and lets his eyes survey the room. 

“Were you expecting company?”

“None of your business. Just explain why you’re here and save everyone the trouble.”

Mycroft sighs, though he doesn't seem too bothered by his brother’s hostility.

“I’m here because of a certain… issue. Something that I need your help with. Something valuable has been stolen from me, and I’m afraid the police won’t be of any help. I need a detective. I can’t believe I’m saying this, brother, but… I need  _ you. _ ”

Sherlock thinks for a moment. This case will be a great chance to get his mind off things. But then again, it’s always amazing to turn his brother down… And does he really want to take his mind off things?

“I can’t believe you’re saying that either. Can’t you solve it by yourself? Because, what’s that you used to tell me? 'I’m the smart one, Sherlock'?”

“Sherlock, I’m sorry for what happened. But you know I can’t just solve this thing by myself! For god’s sake, I have a  _ job  _ to do!”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard about that job of yours. It seems you have become the government?”

“I occupy a minor position in the British government-”

“Yup,” Sherlock interrupts him. “That’s all I need to know. You have lost something and, once again, need me to solve the problem and retrieve it for you. Because your  _ job _ is more important to you than your own brother!”

Sherlock silences the room with his rage. Even John seems to stop his usual sniffs at the sound of him yelling. 

Sherlock feels tears well up in his eyes, but he blinks them away and turns to face Mycroft.

“I am not helping you again.” His words are clear and full of warning.

“But I need to find it. I need _ help,”  _ Mycroft pleads.

Sherlock turns away from his brother and gets a small card out of a folder. He slides the card across the table and looks at Mycroft from under the hood of his eyes.

“Contact details. He will help you with your problem.” Sherlock walks up to Mycroft again, and gets in his face. If looks could kill, Mycroft will have died twice over by the look Sherlock gives him.

“Now, get out of my house, you reptile,” he whispers threateningly.

Mycroft scrambles for the door and slams it behind him.

He looks at the card Sherlock gave him.

“Detective Lestrade,” Mycroft mouths the unfamiliar name, before shrugging and leaving the building.

//

Sherlock is lying on the sofa, his eyes closed and his body positioned in a way that can only be described as ‘upside down’. His head dangles loosely from the edge of the sofa, his brown curls almost reaching the floor. His feet are propped up against the backrest. Lots of different things surround him, ranging from a laptop and other electronics, all the way to… drugs.

This is what a bored Sherlock looks like.

He tried to distract himself with anything, anything at all to keep his mind from drifting. But nothing worked. So eventually, he decided he wouldn’t go to the vet again. That would only make things worse. 

And that, is how he has ended up in this position.

Sherlock’s eyes snap open when he hears John sniff at his hair. He picks up his pet with one swift motion, despite still being upside down. 

“It’s just not  _ right _ , John,” he says. “He is always on my mind. I can’t seem to stop thinking about him. It feels like… Like there’s a _ parasite  _ in my brain!”

He grunts and sits upright again. He winces at the sharp pain that rakes through his head. He breathes for a bit with his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to dissolve. Then he continues:

“I wish I had never met John.” He sees his hedgehog look up at him sadly, and quickly adds, “No, not you. The intern! That damned intern… With his gorgeous blue eyes that light up when he smiles… Making them turn from being a dark storm to a clear blue sky…” He grunts exasperatedly. “I’m doing it again!”

He jumps up from his spot on the sofa, ignoring the searing pain in his head. He paces across the room, mumbling things that no one can hear but him. Saying anything that would distract him.

But nothing helps. 

He comes to a halt, and crashes down on the floor. He pulls his knees close to his chest, and starts to sob. The paranoia is getting to him, already invading his mind and exponentially increasing his worries. 

“How could anyone ever like this mess?” he whispers.

John trots over to him, and lies down on his feet. Sherlock gives a sad chuckle and gives him a little scratch under his chin. 

“At least you still like me.”

//

It’s 9 PM, which means that the vet has closed by now. The matter is out of his hands now.. Sherlock just can’t bear to go back there again. It’s funny how he changed his mind so quickly: when he first came home, he wanted nothing more than to return to the veterinarian's office. Just to see  _ him  _ again. But then he thought about it a bit more and he realised that that would be a terrible, terrible mistake. His world is already complicated enough with his studies, annoying family, and hedgehog to think about. He can’t afford to add heartbreak to that list. 

So he doesn’t go. He looks at the news, finding murders that might interest him; he studies his Chemistry book even though he already knows everything by heart; and he feeds his hedgehog. Everything remains unchanged. As if the meeting with the attractive young man had never happened.

But then, the world reminds him of reality. 

The phone in his pocket rings, lighting up the dull, dark room. Deductions fly through Sherlock’s brain:  _ someone who doesn’t know me well; everyone knows I prefer to text. Or Mycroft. He prefers to call, just to annoy me.  _ He bats the thought away.  _ No, Mycroft was here earlier. He would never dare interact with me twice in a day. School? No, school wouldn’t call me on a Sunday.  _

When he’s out of options, Sherlock’s curiosity is piqued. His hands trembling with anticipation, he picks up the phone.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he says, his voice deep, like the bass of an instrument.

“Mr. Holmes! Thank god you picked up,” the voice of Dr Stamford sounds through the phone. “The test results just came back. You might want to come by.”

“Now?” Sherlock asks, disoriented. “It’s 9.30 PM!”

“That doesn’t matter, we’ll open the door for you. Now  _ please _ , come by. You’ll want to see this…”

Sherlock hangs up the phone, having heard enough, and races to gather his things. He throws on his coat, picks up John and hurries over to the vet as fast as he can.

_ Please let him be okay... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to @Lisa4Language for being an extraordinary beta.   
> And thank you all again for reading. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do writing it :)  
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think; it makes my day! <3


	4. So it's true, isn't it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last chapter: Sherlock was called by the veterinarian's offce, telling him to come over immediately.

Sherlock arrives at the vet, breathing heavily and shaking all over. On the way there, Sherlock thought of all possible things that could be wrong: ranging from a mere scratch all the way to hedgehog cancer. About half-way there, the things he thought of were getting so gruesome that Sherlock had to stop himself from thinking about it any more. 

_ Whatever it is, he’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it. _ He kept repeating this in his head, like a mantra.

When he stands in front of the door, he carefully peeks through. It is completely dark inside the vet’s office, apart from a single light at the desk. He is about to look closer to see if there’s anyone inside, when suddenly a round face appears in front of the door. 

Sherlock jumps back at the sudden appearance, his heart beating fast in his chest. Though he isn’t sure whether that was caused by the person in front of the door, his running, or the fact that he is  _ extremely _ nervous.

The figure in front of him unlocks the door for him, and meets him with a kind smile. Sherlock thinks he sees a flash of worry in his smile, but if it was there, it disappeared as soon as he came through the door.

“Mr Holmes, I’m so glad you could come,” Doctor Stamford says, as he holds out his hand for him to shake. 

Sherlock reluctantly shakes the hand before letting his eyes go around the room.

“You told me to come immediately because of the test results. That worried me enough to come running, I believe.”

Doctor Stamford shuts the door behind Sherlock and lets out a hearty laugh at his comment, though Sherlock doesn’t deem it quite as funny. Considering the circumstances.

“Right this way, Mr Holmes,” Doctor Stamford says, as he leads Sherlock over to the desk.

Sherlock can now see where the light had come from; a single desk lamp illuminates the area. 

But Sherlock’s mind isn’t focused on the lamp, nor on the folder that lies next to it which, undoubtedly, contains the test results.

No, Sherlock is focused on the figure that he sees in the room opposite. He recognises him instantly, despite the darkness of the room. For a moment, he stops breathing and slows down his step.

_ John _ , he breathes.

Apparently, Doctor Stamford had been talking to him, because he suddenly gets a gentle nudge in the shoulder. He follows Sherlock’s gaze, and sees John as well.

“Are you alright, Mr Holmes?” he asks. But his question doesn’t sound worried. Sherlock can even hear a hint of teasing in his voice.

Sherlock manages to tear his gaze away from the intern, redirecting his attention towards Stamford. 

“Yeah, I’m alright…” he manages, before a voice drowns out his own.

“Hey, Mike, I’m back. I got the milk and the other things you needed-” John’s eyes land on Sherlock. “Oh, hello.”

Sherlock nervously turns to John.

“Hello there,” he says, thankful that his voice doesn’t show his nerves. “You’re still here?”

John clears his throat. “Um, yeah. Got nowhere else to be, really.”

“Right. Because you have recently returned to London, with no place to live, so you’re staying with Doctor Stamford for now. All your friends were in the army, and the relationship between you and your family isn’t all too good. So you don’t have anyone else to turn to,” Sherlock states matter-of-factly. As soon as he realises what he’s done, his eyes go wide. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” John reassures him. “I don’t even know how you could have possibly known that. Have you told him about me, Mike?” 

Doctor Stamford shakes his head. 

“Not a word.”

John can’t help fight back a smile. “You’ll have to tell me later how you knew that, then.”

“Later?” Sherlock asks.

“Well, I suppose you really want to see those test results, don’t you?”

//

John the hedgehog looks up nervously at his owner. He can sense Sherlock's unease. He nudges against Sherlock's hand, in an effort to calm him down.

Sherlock absentmindedly pets him, but is completely distracted. His gaze is focused on the test results in front of him. 

Sherlock is intelligent, and can see through everything, but this… this, he cannot grasp.

_ This cannot be true _ , his mind repeats.

_ They must have made a mistake; John can't be… he can't… _

"John is a girl?" he blurts out. He looks up doubtfully at the men standing beside him, expecting them to tell him that it is all a joke.

But they say nothing. 

Sherlock turns the few pages in the folder again, double-, triple-, quadruple-checking the information. But he can't find anything which disproves his conclusion.

Finally, John the intern clears his throat and says: "The information is all correct, Mr Holmes. We double-checked it for you. Besides, it's quite simple to check-"

"John is a girl and he's pregnant?!" Sherlock exclaims. 

"Well… yes," John responds calmly. 

This is getting too much for Sherlock. He needs to sit down. 

"Mr Holmes? Are you alright?"

The words are drowned out in his mind, and the world around him suddenly seems darker. He doesn't feel so good…

"Oh! Christ," John exclaims, as he catches Sherlock's limp body before it can hit the ground. "A little help here?" He asks Mike, who is already grabbing a chair and pushes it under Sherlock. 

//

When Sherlock comes back to his senses, he sees a familiar set of eyes in front of him. He is momentarily confused, while he looks around the dark room, John on a table, and John the intern kneeling next to his chair. 

But then he remembers. 

"So it's true, isn't it?" he whispers. 

Both men in the room nod.  _ It's true. _

"Yes. John -the hedgehog, not me- is a female. And  _ she  _ is pregnant. Has been for a little over a week."

Sherlock stares at John defeatedly. He feels like such an idiot. He should have checked John's sex better. He should have deduced what was happening to him. Or, rather,  _ her _ . 

But he still needs to see.

"You said you could check?"

"Hmm?" John looked up at Sherlock. 

"You said we could easily check if it's true. So… can we? Can I have proof?" 

John looks from Sherlock hesitantly over to Doctor Stamford. But thankfully, the doctor gives a nod of approval.

He looks back at Sherlock, who gazes at him hopefully. 

"Of course," John says. "Follow me."

Sherlock follows John back to the desk, momentarily pausing to gain back his balance. His knees are wobbly and his focus is still faint, but he's determined not to pass out in front of his crush. Again. 

He makes it to the desk, and notices that John was so kind as to wait for him to get there. He gives Sherlock a small smile, which makes Sherlock's heart skip.

John turns on the computer, and soon a series of pictures show up on the screen. Sherlock recognises them from his biology classes; they were ultrasound scans.

"You performed an ultrasound on my hedgehog without telling me? I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Sherlock huffs. 

"Of course we didn't." John rolls his eyes, but a faint smile lingers in the corners of his lips. "This is an example of an ultrasound on a pregnant hedgehog. I wanted to show you the basics, so you know what to look for." He moves his mouse to the middle of the picture, and starts circling a particular blob on the ultrasound. "See this?" he asks Sherlock. "This is where the hoglets are located. As you can see, they're all cuddled up close together, which is why it shows up as one mass on the scan."

Sherlock stares at the screen in front of him for a moment, still unable to process that  _ that  _ is happening inside his hedgehog as well. He thinks about what John just told him. '... _ This is where the hoglets are located…' _

"Wait, did you say hoglets? As in.. plural?" Sherlock's eyes go wide and John chuckles at this. 

"Yes. A hedgehog usually has 4 or 5 hoglets at a time."

Sherlock looks absolutely horrified, and for a moment, John is almost afraid he is about to pass out again. But instead, Sherlock responds:

"Right. Obviously…"

John clears his throat, attempting to fill the awkward silence. "So… shall we?" he asks Sherlock, gesturing to the hedgehog. 

"Shall we what? Don't hurt him-" Sherlock stammers.

"No, I won't… He'll be safe. I'm just going to show you…" Before Sherlock can protest, John pulls him along by his sleeve, leading him towards the hedgehog. Sherlock's heart beats fast in his chest at the sudden contact.

John gently picks up his namesake, and puts an index finger on her tummy. He sticks out his tongue slightly while he tries to find a spot - Sherlock finds this incredibly cute - and lets out a small "Aha!" when he has apparently found what he was looking for.

He gestures for Sherlock to come closer, and Sherlock gladly accepts the invitation. His heart is beating so fast, he's afraid John can hear his heart beat.

"May I?" John whispers. 

Sherlock nods, though he's not sure what John is talking about. 

John takes Sherlock's hand, and gently places it on the hedgehog's tummy. 

_ Oh. That's what he was talking about.  _

He looks over at John nervously, while their hands are touching. John answers his look with kind eyes. He looks nervous too.

John guides Sherlock's index finger over the tummy, careful not to let him press too hard. 

"You feel that?" He whispers. 

Sherlock nods, unable to form any words at the moment. John's hand is on his, and he can feel baby hoglets in his hedgehog's tummy.

His throat runs dry and it feels like his whole world is turned upside-down.

And yet he's never been happier. 

//

After talking through the basics of hedgehog pregnancy, and all the things Sherlock can do for his pet, Sherlock’s nerves have toned down a little. He no longer feels as though he is in the dark, and his whole life is a lie. Well, that last part he isn’t sure about yet. It’s going to be difficult to get used to the idea that John is, in fact, a girl.

“So, what are you going to name her now? I suppose ‘John’ doesn’t make a lot of sense anymore for a girl,” John said.

“Well,  _ you’re  _ called John…” Sherlock automatically gives a snarky, clever response, and it’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. He looks at John nervously, sure that he has just messed up any possible future between them.

But to his surprise, John  _ laughs _ . Okay, he’s sure of it now: John’s an idiot. (Though a cute idiot... )

“Yeah, I had that one coming. Clever.” John looks up at him, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

_ Don’t stare into his eyes _ , Sherlock tells himself. But he can’t help it. And frankly, he doesn’t care. John doesn’t seem to mind either.

“I think I’ll keep it as John,” Sherlock states.

“Really? Not a female version, like Jane?”

“John is actually a girl’s name,” Sherlock tries.

John chuckles. “No, it’s not.”

“Well, to me it is. Now.”

They look at each other for a moment, sharing a look which they wouldn’t share with anyone else. A look that knows what is not to be spoken aloud. A look that makes Sherlock’s heart skip a beat.

“So…” Sherlock starts, trying to fill the silence. “What are you doing after this?”

_ What did you just say? _ Sherlock shakes away his thoughts, and instead smiles kindly at John.

“Oh, I suppose I’ll just... go home,” John says, almost looking flustered. 

_ Flustered? _

“You mean to Doctor Stamford’s house?” Sherlock vaguely gestured over to Stamford, who was cleaning up in the room opposite.

“You can call him Mike. And yes. I don’t really have anywhere else to go. As you deduced.” 

John smiled at Sherlock, but Sherlock could see a sad expression linger behind his eyes.

“Oh, I see.” Sherlock didn’t know what to say. Well, he did know  _ what _ to say, but he didn’t know  _ how  _ to say it. 

_ Just say it. _

“Do you have plans tomorrow? I know you said that you don’t really have anything to do except be at the vet’s office helping out, and I deduced that you don’t have many contacts, people to do things with in London, and I observe now that you are bored, terribly bored, and want to do something,  _ anything _ except be here for another day. I also know that this vet is closed on Mondays, so you wouldn’t have anything to do tomorrow-”

“Are you asking me out?” John interrupted Sherlock’s narrative.

“I- I don’t- I wasn’t,” Sherlock stammers.

“I mean… Not like that. I think. It just seemed like you were inviting me somewhere? Or had I observed wrong?”

Sherlock looks at John shyly, embarassed that his intentions were so obvious. “You observed well,” he says. “I wanted to ask, if you, perhaps, if it’s possible-”

“Yes?”

“-would like to solve a crime together?”


	5. You have my number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Sherlock asked whether John would like to solve a crime together.  
> Will he accept?

“Wait, sorry? You want to solve a crime together?” John asks perplexedly.

“Well… yes. If you want to, of course.” Sherlock notices the look on John’s face. “Oh, I should have mentioned: I sometimes solve crimes for the police when they’re out of their depth... which is always.”

“You help them? With your thing?”

“My… thing?”

“Your deduction thing. You managed to see everything about me without any help, in just a few minutes. That’s what you do on the crime scene, isn’t it? You deduce what happened and who commited the crime.”

Sherlock smirks at John’s reaction, both smug that his talent is acknowledged and relieved that John didn’t react badly when he heard about Sherlock’s hobbies. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I do. I now realise that this could be a tad boring for you, watching me as I-”

“I’d love to come,” John responds bluntly, before Sherlock can continue his narrative.

Sherlock gives John a small smile, but inside he is jumping for joy. Hanging out with his crush, doing the thing that he loves! This must be a dream.  
Was it? Insecurity washes away his smile.  
“Are you sure?” he asks carefully.

This time, it is John’s turn to smile. “Of course, you idiot,” he says. “Watching you do deductions at a crime scene? That’s the most exciting thing to happen to me in months!”

Sherlock grins, and John grins back. This is going to be good.

“Everything all sorted here?” a voice sounds beside them. “I’m going to close up soon, if you both are all right with that. I’d like to go home.”

John looks away from Sherlock, and mumbles a soft "of course" to Mike.

“What about you, John?” Mike asks. “Will you go home with me, or are you going somewhere else?” The teasing hint has returned to his voice.

“Of course I’ll be going with you.”

“Okay, okay, if you say so. Don’t worry, we’ve got all sorts around here. You know, my daughter goes out with boys about every night,” he says.

John and Sherlock awkwardly avert their gazes.

“So, I should be going, then,” Sherlock announces. 

“Yes, uhm. How can I reach you?” John asks subtly.

“Well, you have my number.”

“Yes! Yes, of course. I’ll just… call you then.”

“Actually, I prefer to text,” Sherlock responds, making a weird typing gesture with his hands. Why did I do that?

John chuckles. “Of course. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sherlock doesn’t know if he imagined it, but he can swear that he just saw John wink at him. That’s okay, we’re even now. But also: Oh. My. God.

//

They say goodbye, and before he knows it, Sherlock is back outside with his hedgehog in his arms. A lot has just happened in there. He has found out his hedgehog is actually a female, who is coincidentally also pregnant with multiple hoglets. He has worked up the courage to ask John the intern out -maybe not for a date, but a crime scene is definitely a step in the right direction- and he actually said yes.  
Overall, this is the best night of his life.

//

The soothing sound of violin playing fills the flat. John is happily lying down in one of her  
beds. Sherlock's fingers dance gracefully across the strings, moving his bow delicately to create beautiful sounds. He smiles at his hedgehog, who is resting, enjoying the music that Sherlock is making.   
The flat is imbued with calm joy, filling them and emptying them all at once. The music sounds into the atmosphere, travelling across London.  
The calm evening transcends into night, and soon Sherlock can be found asleep on his couch, his pregnant pet asleep on his chest.  
The soothing breathing is all that’s heard, as the city goes to sleep.

//

(Monday, 7.31 a.m.)  
Hi.

Sherlock is awoken from his slumber by a notification from his phone.  
He grunts, slapping around for his phone. He winces when he touches his hedgehog instead. “Ah! Sorry Jawn,” he grumbles. He finally finds his phone, which has now sounded twice more.  
He rubs his eyes, before sleepily opening the messages.

Unknown number.  
(Monday, 7.31 a.m.)  
Hi.  
(Monday, 7.32 a.m.)  
This is John. 

Sherlock sits up straight, his drowsiness immediately disappearing from his mind. He’s wide-awake and promptly continues reading the messages.

(Monday, 7.32 a.m.)  
This is John.   
No, not your hedgehog who has mysteriously gained the ability to text.  
Although that would be interesting.   
But no, it’s me, the intern.

Sherlock lets out a deep chuckle and swiftly moves his fingers across the screen to respond.

(Monday, 7.34 a.m.)  
Hello John. -SH  
The intern, not the hedgehog. -SH  
Although that would be interesting. I’d love to know how she’s feeling. -SH

He stares at the screen, waiting for John to start typing. His feet bounce up and down as insecurities flash through his brain. Was that stupid? Should I have been distant instead? People hate it when I try to be funny. I should just delete them before he sees-  
But before he can even finish the thought, three little dots appear on his screen.  
John is typing.

(Monday, 7.36 a.m.)  
Haha!

Oh thank god, he finds it funny.

(Monday, 7.37 a.m.)  
I think about that all the time! It would certainly make my work a lot easier if the animals could just tell me how they’re feeling XD

Cute. Sherlock thinks. He uses emoticons.

(Monday, 7.37 a.m.)  
Obviously. But I suspect you do your job quite well without zoolingualism. -SH

(Monday, 7.38 a.m.)  
I’ll take that as a compliment. Although I have no idea what that word means.

(Monday, 7.38 a.m.)  
Zoolingualism? It’s the ability to speak to animals. Shouldn’t you know these things as a vet? -SH

(Monday, 7.38 a.m.)  
I’ll have you know that magic is not part of my job. Sadly.  
(Monday, 7.40 a.m.)  
And thank you for teaching me my word of the day! I’m learning already. Soon, I’ll become sentient and take over the world! 

Sherlock stares at his screen. This guy is an absolute idiot. Why does he find it so charming?  
(Monday, 7.41 a.m.)  
I didn’t know you were a robot. Is this the right number? -SH  
(Monday, 7.42 a.m.)  
Do robots even like magic? -SH

(Monday, 7.43 a.m.)  
This robot does. Because, you see, I’m on the verge of being sentient. Right on that edge, where you like magic.  
(Monday, 7.46 a.m.)  
Sorry, I hope I didn’t scare you off with that. You do actually have the right number.

Sherlock's isn't delayed because he believes that he really is talking to a robot. He has been occupied by making a cup of tea.

(Monday, 7.47 a.m.)  
You did not scare me off. I’m not an idiot, I know such a thing does not exist. I was simply preparing tea. -SH

(Monday, 7.48 a.m.)  
That what doesn’t exist? A sentient robot texting you? Or someone who likes magic?

(Monday, 7.48 a.m.)  
Both. -SH

(Monday, 7.50 a.m.)  
Fair enough.

Sherlock shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face. He can’t believe he’s having a conversation with someone. Though, to be fair, it is texting. He’s always prefered to text over…being face to face.  
But still. He can’t help but enjoy having a conversation with someone who isn’t his brother or calling him a freak. Which leads him to think: why is John even texting him?

(Monday, 7.53 a.m.)  
Why did you text me? -SH

(Monday, 7.54 a.m.)  
Right!   
I wanted to ask what you have in mind for today. And where to meet up?

(Monday, 7.55 a.m.)  
You’ll see.   
Today, 7 p.m. The address is 221B Baker Street. -SH

Sherlock thinks for a while, before adding:

(Monday, 7.57 a.m.)  
Could be dangerous. -SH

//

“What do you mean, you’ve taken all my cigarettes?”  
Sherlock is on hands and knees, as he frantically looks through his hiding spots, gutted to find that his entire secret stash has vanished.

“I had to take them. It wouldn't be a good look for your date to see all your cigarettes!”

“But I had hidden them! John’s too much of an idiot to find them anyway. Now where are they?”

Mycroft sighs and grips his younger brother’s collar, pulling him onto his feet.  
“It doesn’t matter that he’s an idiot; they all are! What matters is appearances, brother mine. We don’t want you looking like you’re…”

Sherlock releases himself from his brother’s grip and turns to face him.   
“Like I’m what?” he yells. “Like I’m myself? Oh, please Mycroft - we both know you don’t care what my date thinks of me. You’ve been waiting for a moment like this for ages. A chance to take it away from me. This isn’t about my appearances. It’s about yours!”

Mycroft looks appalled, but doesn't object.   
Sherlock takes this as an invitation to deduce further. 

“But the question is: why now? Why not wait until things might get more serious with John? You’re trying to impress someone, but it can't wait until later. Look at your clothes: you are obviously meeting someone right after this. You have tried on two… no, three different kinds of suits, before deciding on this one. Your knees are locked, while you usually keep them loose. You’re also tightly gripping the handle of your umbrella; these are all signs of nervous agitation. So who are you meeting? And what is their connection with me, which would make the cigarettes this important? I believe-”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Mycroft snarls. “You’re right. I am meeting someone later. But it’s none of your business who it is!”

“My cigarettes are none of your business either!”

The boys stare at each other, both practically begging the other not to go any further with this.

“Give me a cigarette, and I promise I’ll behave in front of your date,” Sherlock hisses.

“Date? I never said it was a date.”

“You didn’t have to. Your suit plainly indicated to me that it’s a date.”

Mycroft sighs defeatedly, before handing over a single cigarette from his pocket.  
“Just the one. Please control yourself.”

“Fine,” Sherlock mutters.

With that, Mycroft turns on his heel and leaves Sherlock behind.   
One annoyance over, another one to go, Sherlock thinks.  
He swings open the doors to his closet and starts picking out outfits.

//

Sherlock runs his hands across his chest, smoothing out the fabric of his suit jacket. The navy blue colour highlights the shade of his eyes, and the tight shirt underneath accentuates muscles that he didn’t know he had.  
He gives a satisfied nod toward the mirror, before checking his phone. Twenty minutes to 7:00.   
His fingers flying across the screen, he calls a number.

“Hello, I need your help.”

“Sorry, this is…?”

“Really, Lestrade? It’s Sherlock Holmes, obviously.”

“Oh, Sherlock! What is it you need? It had better be quick; I’ve got plans tonight…” Lestrade mutters.

“I need you to find me a case for tonight.”

“A case? Sherlock, I told you before: if there’s a good case, I promise I’ll call you. There’s nothing that would interest you tonight. Sorry.”

“It doesn’t have to be a good one. Just one that’s… entertaining. Have you got anything like that?”

Lestrade sighs from the other end of the line.  
“The best I’ve got is the poisoning of a local rabbit. But I don’t imagine that would-”

“Perfect!” Sherlock says, before Lestrade can finish his sentence. “Text me the details. I’ll be there.”

“You better be quick, Sherlock. I’m only here for another hour, then I-”

Sherlock ends the call without bothering to hear the rest.  
A few more preparations, and then it will be time.

//

The doorbell rings. Sherlock’s heart beats rapidly in his chest. He moves downstairs, straightening his jacket every second. He practices his speech in his head:  
Hello, John. I’m so glad you could make it out tonight. If you’ll follow me, we can get a cab to the first location.  
Shouldn’t go wrong. It’ll be fine.  
Hopefully he doesn’t ask to see the flat.  
He opens the door with trembling hands.  
And there he is.

John is wearing a knitted jumper, in a colour that reminds Sherlock of oatmeal. His hands are resting calmly beside him, but the clenching and unclenching of his hands suggest that he is nervous.  
But he is also wearing the most beautiful smile as he says, “Hi.”

Sherlock can’t help but smile back. “Hi,” he responds.  
And suddenly, he has forgotten everything he had wanted to say.  
“So, shall we?” he asks nervously.

John nods happily.  
“Oh, god yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for still tagging along! I'm having a lot of fun with this story. :D  
> It means the world to me that some people actually read it, too!  
> Please leave a comment telling me what you think so far. Comments make my day! <3 <3


	6. The game is on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Not a) date time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my AMAZING beta Lisa4Language for existing and helping with this fic! <3<3

The cold wind feels harsh against their warm cheeks, piercing through their coats. But they aren’t focused on the cold, for they are too distracted by the warmth coursing through their veins, their hearts beating fast, drowning out the sound of their footsteps and of John’s cane tapping on the ground.

“So, when are you going to tell me where we’re going?” John asks. The two of them had been silent for the entire cab ride, too nervous to speak. The cool evening air made John alert, though, and suddenly curious about where they are heading.

But Sherlock won’t budge. “You’ll see. I told you: it’s a crime scene. The location doesn’t matter.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to disagree with you on that,” John says carefully. “I would rather know where we’re going, just in case you decide to kidnap me.”

A joke. The tension in the atmosphere dissipates, making Sherlock release a breath.

He smirks. “I won’t kidnap you. If I did plan to, I don't believe I would have brought you to a crime scene full of policemen.” He gestures towards the street as they turn a corner, revealing the crime scene.

John snickers. “You’re right, that would be stupid of you.” He gives Sherlock a teasing look.

“ _You_ are stupid for even considering that,” Sherlock mocks, but he is smiling broadly at John.

It makes John’s face light up.  _ God, his smile is beautiful _ , he thinks. 

They arrive at the crime scene, which is sectioned off with police tape. Sherlock gallantly holds up the tape for John, who gratefully steps under it. John gets the feeling that this is Sherlock’s equivalent of pulling out a chair at a restaurant. He chuckles at the thought.

“What?” Sherlock asks, noticing John’s giggles.

“Nothing,” John mutters, keeping his little joke for himself. “So, can you explain the details of this case?” he asks Sherlock, while he takes in the crime scene. The police tape sections off a small area in front of a house, a small, two-storey home. Judging by the small bicycles in the front yard, there are children in the house.

“He can’t explain, but I can,” a voice sounds, distracting John from his observations.

John turns around to see a man standing behind him. The man looks at him with amused brown eyes. His silver hair is cut short, making him look older than he probably is. John guesses the man is about 5 years his senior.

He is also wearing a police badge.

“You’re from the police,” John says.

“Well observed. I can tell you’re friends with Sherlock!”

“Anyone could have observed that, Lestrade,” Sherlock mutters.

“Er, right.” He coughs, quickly ignoring Sherlock’s comment. “I’m Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. And you are?” Lestrade holds out his hand.

“John. John Watson.” John shakes the proffered hand.

“Nice to meet you.” Lestrade grins, letting his eyes pass from John to Sherlock. “So, I assume you are here for the case? No wonder Sherlock was so desperate to get any case tonight; I should have guessed it was for a-”

Sherlock subtly kicks Lestrade's leg, shutting him up before he can say the word ‘date’.

Lestrade stifles a yelp, and glares at Sherlock.

“Anyways. The case! Yes, very interesting case, this one. We desperately needed Sherlock.”

“Great! What kind of case is it?” John asks.

“A poisoning,” Lestrade says. Sherlock’s eyes light up at this. “Of a rabbit.” Sherlock’s eyes dim again, but John looks excited.

“Oh, that’s interesting! I’m sure I could be of help, then. I’m studying to be a vet,” John explains to Lestrade.

Lestrade and John talk about the details of the case, while Sherlock walks around the crime scene to investigate.

Despite the children’s bicycles in the front yard of the house, there is no sign of children actually living in the house. The state of the front lawn suggests that these bicycles aren’t usually there. If the children were to use the bicycles often and place them back in the front yard, there would be clear indents of wheels in the grass, but it is unmarred, apart from some broken blades caused by shoes.

The grass under the bicycles isn’t worn either, which would be the case if they had been standing there for a longer period of time; however, the bikes themselves do look worn and used.

So the children use these bicycles often, but rarely park them here. Seeing as how this is the only area to park them, Sherlock comes to the conclusion that the children do not live here. 

He takes a gander through one of the windows of the house. The house has been vacated, but he can still clearly see the furniture which decorates the living room. The furniture is outdated, but kept tidy and clean. There are knitted blankets over every chair. So an elderly person lives here. Only one, judging by the fact that one of the arm chairs doesn’t have an indent, which would be there if the chair were in regular use.

Balance of probability suggests that this is the house of a grandmother, whose husband passed away a long time ago. And her grandchildren were visiting at the time of the incident.

Sherlock smiles a satisfied smile, as he walks back to Lestrade and John.

“You found anything out?” Lestrade asks.

“A bit.”

//

“So, since you disappeared during most of the explanation, let me quickly go over the details of the case with you:

A rabbit, supposedly called Bluebell, has got poisoned. A woman called us to inform us of the situation. Her kids found her-”

“Grandkids,” Sherlock corrects him.

“How do you…? Oh, whatever. So, the woman wasn’t at the crime scene. We tried calling her, but to no effect. We assume she has brought the children -er, grandchildren- to safety.”

“Is that all? A poisoned rabbit?”

“Well, yes. We’ve got forensics on it to find out how the rabbit was poisoned, and to look for possible clues about the perpetrator-”

Lestrade can’t finish his narrative, as Sherlock has already rushed past him, into the building.

“I suppose… I should-” John quickly runs after Sherlock.

//

“Did you bring me here to investigate a rabbit?” John whispers when he finally catches up with Sherlock. 

“Perhaps.” Sherlock opens the door to a room in the house. 

Multiple police officers are gathered around a white fluffy thing. Not just a thing: the poisoned rabbit. (Though, in fairness, rabbits turn into mere things when they die).

John looks around the room. All the officers are wearing blue protective suits, making the both of them look terribly out of place.

“Sherlock? Shouldn’t we be wearing one of those as well?”

Sherlock gives no response, as he trots over to examine the corpse.

Someone hands John a suit. A woman, tanned skin, black curls, around his age. “Don’t worry about him,” she says. “He doesn’t care about rules and regulations. All he does is break rules. You know he comes here out of enjoyment, right? Looking at dead things, being all clever about it. He’s a bloody psychopath.”

John looks at the woman, appalled, the protective suit hanging limply in his hands. “Sorry, and you are?”

“I’m Sergeant Sally Donovan. I've worked with him for a while, I'm sorry to say. Be careful with him; he’s a freak. I mean, who visits a crime scene for entertainment?”

John glares at Donovan. “As a matter of fact, _I do._ Don’t you dare call him a freak. If anything, he’s the most normal person in this room!” John throws the suit at Donovan’s feet, who watches him disgustedly as he walks away from her.

“Any progress on the rabbit?” John asks as he joins Sherlock. He puts down his cane and adjusts his limp leg to sit next to him.

“Not really. Apart from the fact that it’s a female, and that she was loved very dearly by the old woman who lives here. You can tell she was recently brushed,” he says, as he moves his finger across the soft fur. 

“Are you sure it’s a female? We both know determining gender isn’t your strongest suit,” John teases.

“Ha ha. Very funny, John.” Sherlock’s tone is sarcastic, but there is a faint smile on his lips. “Yes, I’m sure it’s a girl. Quite easy to tell with rabbits. Anyway, I still need to determine the cause of death. I figured you could help me with that?”

John nods and lowers his face closer to the ground to properly examine the rabbit. 

Sherlock watches as John sniffs near the animal’s head, picking up the scent of the poison. He follows John’s hands with his eyes as he puts on gloves and moves them across the corpse. The tip of John’s tongue sticks out of his mouth as he examines the rabbit for any possible bulges. Sherlock subconsciously licks his lips.

“Yeah, asphyxiation, probably. There are swollen bruises on the side of its body as well, which probably means that the perpetrator held down the rabbit as he injected the poison.”

“Injected?”

“Well, yeah. There’s a tiny spot, a bruise on the side of its neck which you only get when you have been injected with a needle.”

“Interesting… So it wasn’t in the food.”

“Sorry, what?”

“The poison could have easily been in the food. Possibly food that was about to be served to the grandmother or the children. I figured the rabbit could have taken a bite, and… Well.” He gestures to the dead rabbit in front of him. “But it wasn’t in the food! Brilliant! They actually _meant_ to kill the rabbit!” Sherlock jumps up, having gained new energy with this revelation. 

“Come on. Let’s find the murderer.” he grabs John by the wrist and pulls him out of the room.

“Freak,” Donovan mumbles as they pass.

//

The boys are about to question those at the crime scene to gain information when Lestrade calls after Sherlock.

“Sherlock! I’m about to leave… Can I speak to you for a moment? Alone?”

Sherlock eyes John, hesitant to leave him right when things are getting exciting.

“Go ahead, I’ll be fine.” John smiles at him.

Sherlock nods promptly and follows Lestrade over to a private area.

  
  


“What do you need?” Sherlock asks.

“I don’t… _need_ anything from you, Sherlock. I just wanted to ask you some questions.”

“About what?” He eyes Lestrade suspiciously.

“About John. Are you sure he can be trusted around here? I mean, you’ve only known him for a few days-”

“How do you know that?”

“I… heard…”

Sherlock gapes at Lestrade. “My god. My brother told you, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know your brother- We haven’t-” Lestrade stutters.

“Oh, cut the act. I know you two have been seeing each other. I was the one who gave him your number, after all. Don’t think I don’t know these things, because I _do_.”

Lestrade lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, so you know about the fact that we’re dating. Thank god, because I didn’t know how to-”

“Wait, you’re _dating my brother_?!” Sherlock exclaims.

“Oh. You didn’t know.”

“No I did not! How could you go out with him? I mean… he’s my BROTHER.”

“Quiet it down, will ya? Don’t want everyone knowing I’m-”

“Can’t believe you would do that to me. Can’t believe-”

“Sherlock, SHUT UP!”

Sherlock shuts his mouth in surprise.

“Not everything is about _you_ , all right? Why can’t you let us be happy? It’s really important to your brother. And to me. Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done that behind your back; that was a crappy thing to do. But I’m really thankful you brought us together. We’re _happy_ together. It’s still quite new, but… I think he’s a keeper.”

“Look at you, talking like a head-over-heels in love teenage girl,” Sherlock teases.

Lestrade smiles at this. “Glad to see the old you back.” Without warning, he pulls Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock awkwardly accepts it. “Thank you,” he whispers.

They retreat from the hug, and dust off their suit fronts. They do each have a date tonight, after all.

“Good to see you and John getting along,” Lestrade tries, but Sherlock shushes him.

“Fine.” He checks his watch. “I should get going. So… Have fun you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He gives Sherlock a wink and walks off.

“Idiot,” Sherlock scoffs.

John’s voice behind Sherlock makes him jump.

“I think I found a clue to find the murderer. Are you coming?”

Sherlock turns around to face John, a large grin spreading across his face. 

“The game is on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this little case they're on! The game is on! :D  
> Please leave a comment to tell me what you think of this chapter. I read them all! <3  
> If you have something you want to see, (a tiny detail, like a sentence or an object), let me know and I might add it to the next chapter! ;)


	7. Just perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last chapter:   
> Sherlock and John are on their first case together. A rabbit has been murdered; injected with poison in the home of a grandmother. 
> 
> The game continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't post a new chapter last week! My inspiration and motivation disappeared for a little while. Chapters should go up every week again from now on!   
> Enjoy this chapter :)

“So, what did the detective want to tell you?” John walks beside Sherlock, his hands in his pockets. He looks up at him, his head slightly tilted.

Sherlock doesn’t even notice. “Hmm? Who?” Sherlock wakes up from his thoughts. “Oh! You mean Graham-”

“Wasn’t his name Greg?” John inquires, but it’s left unnoticed.

“-he just wanted to tell me he’s dating my brother. Nothing that important.”

John looks up in surprise. “Wait a minute, Lestrade is gay?”

“Yes. Sorry, I should have figured you didn’t observe that.” Sherlock waits for a moment, before he continues: “Do you, um… Do you have a problem with that?”

“What? No, of course not! It’s not… I’m just saying: it’s all fine.” John awkwardly looks away.

Sherlock glances at John and snickers. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m messing with you. Of course it’s okay.”

John releases a breath. “Oh, good. Thank god.”

“But… Thank you.”

They exchange a few soft smiles.

After a little while, they arrive at a square nearby. Sherlock can see a woman sitting on a park bench, huddled close to a couple of kids. The street lantern above them perfectly highlights their wet cheeks.

When they get closer, he can properly deduce them. Dozens of words flash through his brain, telling him all kinds of information about the people on the bench, but he needs only one of them to figure out who they are.

One word stands out among the rest: 

_ afraid. _

“These are the people who were in the house,” Sherlock observes.

“Yes, they are,” John responds. He could be wrong, but Sherlock almost senses a hint of pride in John’s voice. He smiles.  _ Cute. _

As soon as they are in front of them, the woman hugs her grandchildren closer and calls out:

“Oh, sweet children! You shouldn’t be around here. haven’t you heard? There has been a murder. It isn’t safe-” whatever she was about to say next is drowned out by a sob.

“Actually, we’re from the police,” Sherlock says, showing her a police badge. John looks quizzically at the badge, unsure how Sherlock even owns one, but doesn’t say anything for now.

“Oh! That’s excellent news! I wanted to ask if there has been any progress, but I couldn’t go back there. What with the children and all.”

John steps in this time. “We’re doing everything we can to solve this murder, ma’am,” he says. “We’ll do the rabbit-”

“Bluebell.” The old woman sniffs at the name, tears already welling in her eyes.

“...We’ll do  _ Bluebell _ justice. We just need you to respond to a few questions. Is that all right with you?”

The tears trickle down the woman’s cheeks now. “Oh, you are so sweet. Of course I will help. Sorry, I’m still in shock…” she stammers, holding a handkerchief to her eye.

“Of course. In your own time,” John says with a smile.

“Though quite quickly,” Sherlock adds impatiently. John flashes him a glare.

“Yes, all right. I’m okay.” She looks at her grandchildren, who are huddled up next to her. “Why don’t you darlings go play with the officer?” She gestures at John. “It’ll only be a moment; I just need to talk to this young man.”

The children nod reluctantly, scramble off the bench, and follow John out of hearing range.

“So, what is your name, miss?” Sherlock asks.

“Martha. Martha Hudson.”

“All right, Mrs Hudson. Can you tell me some details about the incident?”

Mrs Hudson tells him about how her grandchild found Bluebell, and how she immediately noticed that the rabbit had been poisoned.

“You see, my husband owned a cartel back in the day,” she says, “and sometimes he got in with the wrong crowd, if you know what I mean… I taught myself how to recognise certain causes of death early on in our relationship.”

Sherlock smirks. He’s glad the woman isn’t that soft after all.

They talk for a little longer, Mrs Hudson talking about what happened and Sherlock listening and taking mental notes.

When they’re finished, Sherlock is about to get up to get John, when Mrs Hudson gently nudges his arm.

“Look,” she whispers.

Sherlock follows her gaze. His eyes land on John, and he smiles a little at the sight.

“Look at them. He is doing such a good job entertaining the kids. They really like him.” She turns her head toward Sherlock again. “He’ll be a great parent one day,” she says, knowingly.

Sherlock’s cheeks redden. “Oh, we’re not- I wasn’t thinking-” he stammers.

“Oh, it’s okay dear. There’s all sorts around here. My own son is married to a man.” She gives Sherlock a kind smile. “You can’t fool me, you know. I’ve seen the way you look at him. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you too.” She gives him a little pinch in the arm.

Sherlock is about to ask further, when John returns with the children.

“Everything all right here?” he asks.

“Just perfect,” Mrs Hudson says as she smiles innocently up at him.

Sherlock quickly gets up, getting ready to leave before Mrs Hudson can share her predictions with John, which would be a disaster. He walks up to John and says: “I got everything. Do you want to get out of here?”

John grins. “Definitely.”

//

John and Sherlock walk quickly away from Mrs Hudson and her grandchildren, giggling like kids. 

“I can’t believe we just got to act like proper detectives!” John’s eyes are shining.

“Isn’t it fun?” Sherlock grins at John.

“Yes, it is.” He reaches for Sherlock’s hand -Sherlock’s heart skips a beat- only to grab Sherlock’s police badge from it. “How did you even get this?”

Sherlock releases his breath. Of course. 

“I got it from Lestrade. He rewards me with official police stuff like this when I’m being particularly  _ not _ annoying.”

“I suppose you have tons of these things then?”

Sherlock looks at his feet as a small smile forms on his lips. “More than you’d expect.”

They walk in a comfortable silence for a bit, heading nowhere particular. The moonlight stretches through the trees, landing on John’s face. Sherlock subconsciously admires him. He cannot help it. He has got to admit, he  _ is  _ quite handsome. Sherlock shyly turns his face away.

After a while, John breaks the silence. 

“So… who’d murder a rabbit?”

“Good question. What do you think?” Sherlock looks at John questioningly, encouraging him to share his intellect.

“Well. Who would have poison near them? Who would hate the rabbit of an old woman? And why would they murder it now, tonight, when the grandchildren are visiting? These are the questions we should be asking.”

Sherlock’s eyes sparkle in anticipation. “Go on. What do you think is the answer to these questions?”

John takes a deep breath. 

“Absolutely no idea.”

Sherlock cackles, making John laugh too. 

“We can’t giggle; it’s a crime scene!” he says, giggling.

“It’s fine, we’re quite far from the crime scene by now anyway,” Sherlock says.

“Yes, where are we going?”

“Dinner.”

John licks his lips and follows on Sherlock's heels.

//

They arrive at a little food truck that sells chips, deserted in the middle of a street. 

The proprietor of the food truck leans over through the window and she smiles at Sherlock. “Hello there, stranger.” John immediately notices her Irish accent. 

Sherlock waves at her awkwardly. “John, this is Carla. I met her at work.” 

John lets his eyes move between Sherlock and the girl.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Is she your… I mean, are you two…”

Sherlock looks at John questioningly, completely oblivious to the situation. 

Luckily, Carla intervenes.

“Oh, we’re not together! God, no. This guy just got me off a murder charge!”

John takes a step back. “Oh. You’re a… murderer. Okay. Cool. But you two are not together?”

“I didn’t actually kill anyone, or else I’d be in prison. Told you, yer guy managed to get me off the charge.” Carla smiles kindly at him. “And of course we’re not together. If we were, why would he bring you here on a date?”

Sherlock couldn’t stop her from saying this, and, seeing as she is up in the chip stand, he couldn’t kick her to warn her off as he did with Lestrade. 

John awkwardly averts his eyes. “Oh, I didn’t know. Is this… Sherlock?” he desperately turns to Sherlock, waiting for him to explain.

“I don’t…” He looks around, panicked, frightful of even being in this situation. He takes a big breath. “No. This isn’t a date. Obviously…”

John releases his breath. “Okay. Good.”

Sherlock feels crushed beneath the weight of it all.

//

The two of them have chips, and soon the delicious food distracts them from the awkwardness in the air.

“So,” John begins. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Sherlock looks up from his chips quizzically, and wipes his hands with a napkin. “What do you mean?”

“You obviously have a theory, if not several, about the case. So explain; tell me what you’re thinking.”

Sherlock grins, glad to already have made such an impression on John of his cleverness. And he’s not mistaken. “I do have a few theories.” He watches as John looks at him expectantly, like a spectator about to watch an extraordinary play, before he begins:

“There’s been a rabbit murdered in Mrs Hudson’s house. The only people who were in the house at the time of the murder were her grandchildren and Mrs Hudson herself. It is clear that none of them would have killed their beloved Bluebell, so it’s clear that someone must have broken in. There was a single window in the room, which was open to let out the smelly air that is caused by keeping a rabbit inside -I mean, who does that?- which would have been an easy way for the murderer to have gotten in and out of the room. As you said, the poison was injected, not self-administered, so it was a deliberate murder. But who would murder a rabbit? Perhaps, it was someone who wanted the children to see the rabbit's corpse and distrust their grandmother. Now, that’s not typically how children would react; most would cling even tighter to the nearest mother-figure there, which in this case is their grandmother. Another reason to murder a beloved rabbit would be as a warning sign. We know Mrs Hudson’s husband worked in a cartel, so the man must have had many enemies. But why would anyone kill the rabbit  _ now _ ? The husband died ages ago. Balance of probability suggests it wasn’t about the husband. It must have involved the children, somehow. They only attacked when the children were visiting their grandmother. The killer must have had the kids and Mrs Hudson as their target.”

While Sherlock rambles on, John only understands half of what he’s saying, but he is still incredibly amazed. He mutters an occasional “Wow”, and “Amazing”, before Sherlock can’t help but notice, despite how deep he is in his own thoughts.

“You know you do that out loud?” he interrupts his own narrative.

“Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“No, it’s… fine.” Sherlock shakes his head, willing himself to get back on track with his investigation. “If it really was a warning sign directed at Mrs Hudson and her grandchildren, what were they warning them of?”

“Maybe that they were going to be hurt next?” John weighs in, thinking of the action films he’s watched.

“That wouldn’t make sense. This rabbit murder attracted a ton of police; if the killer intends to hurt them, he’s going to want them to be isolated-” Sherlock suddenly drops his chip, his mouth silently mouthing an “Oh”.

“Oh!” he says again, louder this time for John to hear.

“What is it? What did you find?”

Sherlock shares an intent look with John as he says: 

“We need to go back to the park.  _ Now _ .”

//

The two of them run through the streets of London, Sherlock’s long coat flapping in the wind, as John follows close behind. They arrive at the crime scene quickly, but don’t stop. Lestrade calls after them to ask where they’re going, and Sherlock shouts that they need to check on Mrs Hudson and the two children, that it’s of utmost importance.

They keep running, all the way to the park close by. When they witness the scene, they stop dead in their tracks.

Mrs Hudson and the children have vanished.


	8. You know where to find me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last time:  
> Sherlock and John are on a case. While they went out for chips, the witnesses (Mrs Hudson and her two grandchildren) disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! I know I said weekly updates... I promise I had a chapter ready, but then all my betas were busy, so I waited until they were available...  
> Eventually I just did it myself! Well, enjoy the chapter :)

The night is quiet, but the tension in the air is almost tangible. People all around are made aware that the family in the park has gone missing. The news spreads fast, seeing as Sherlock shakes and yells at everyone in near proximity, asking them what happened, whether they saw anything.

Sherlock looks around, but there is no one left to yell at. All the police forces have spread throughout the streets, springing to action immediately to find the missing kids and grandmother. He looks around defeatedly, trying to remember if he had seen anything important himself. He’s about to give up, when he hears John behind him.

“Um, Sherlock? You might want to see this.”

Sherlock swivels around to see John crouching next to the vacated park bench.

“What is it?” he asks. The question is deemed unnecessary, though, because as he crouches next to John, he sees it. A piece of paper is illuminated by the moonlight, creating a stark contrast with the bench surface.

“It’s a note. Probably from the kidnapper,” John whispers.

Sherlock puts on his gloves, and picks up the note. He holds it up to the light of the street lantern, examining all the details about the ink, any fingerprints, and the way it has been folded. He can feel John’s gaze burn into him, so he starts reading.

_ To whoever finds this _

_ Not to worry. Mark, Sue and Mrs Hudson are safe. For now. _

_ If you want to keep them safe, or even get them back, I advise you follow my instructions. _

_ Get me Will. Just Will, not their other dad. _

_ I need to talk to him. You do not need to worry what about: that is my business. _

_ Give Will back to me, and I won’t hurt the children. _

_ One hour. No Will; no child. Two hours. Still no Will; no other child. _

_ I’m saving the old woman for something special, not to worry. _

_ You know where to find me. _

Sherlock silently hands the letter over to John, but he has apparently already read it over his shoulder: he doesn’t take the letter, he just starts pacing up and down the dark pathway.

“This is bad, Sherlock. Those people- those  _ kids _ \- are actually in danger. We shouldn’t have left them behind, we’re… oh,  _ god _ .” John bends over, resting his hands on his knees, in an attempt to calm down.

“It’s alright John. We just have to find some clues to find where they’re located. We’ll worry about those children later.”

John stares at Sherlock, surprised at his sudden cold tone. “What do you mean? Those children could be  _ hurt _ , Sherlock!”

“Which is why I will find them!”

John stares angrily at Sherlock, shakes his head, and starts pacing again.

Sherlock doesn’t understand it. How could John worry so much? It will obviously not help them, so why bother? He starts to inspect the letter again. 

_ You know where to find me. _ Does he really? The perpetrator obviously didn’t know who would see the letter, evident by ‘ _ To whoever finds this’ _ . So how could a stranger possibly know where he is? Unless… Unless he knew that Sherlock would find it. Because Sherlock would know where to find him. Of course he will find out. If he just has a moment to think-

“So, have you figured it out yet?” John’s voice sounds, as he walks towards him again.

Sherlock sighs. “Not quite. Although it is possible that he knew that we would find the letter.”

“He? How do you know it isn’t a she?”

“Balance of probability.” He shrugs.

John closely inspects the letter in Sherlock’s hand again. Sherlock is incrementally aware of how close John’s face and hands are to his.

“Will…” John whispers.

“Hm?” Sherlock cocks his head.

“This Will person. Shouldn’t we just find him? I’m sure he knows where they are.”

“Way ahead of you,” Sherlock says, as he shows John his phone with a proud look on his face. It reads ‘Will Hudson’, together with a number.

“Amazing!” John is about to say, but he shuts up because Sherlock dials the number.

“Will Hudson? It’s the police. You need to get here immediately. Your kids and mother have been kidnapped. No, this is not a joke- yes. Alright, I will text you the details.” Sherlock hangs up with a sour look on his face. “He’s on his way. He will be here in about 5 minutes, if he’s worried enough-”

“It really doesn’t affect you, does it?” 

Sherlock looks affronted. “How do you mean?”

“Well, for starters,,, you just told a guy you don’t know that his family has been kidnapped. We’re lucky the guy didn’t have a heart attack right on that phone call-”

“To be fair, it’s quite possible, he did hang up quite abruptly-”

“What I’m  _ saying _ , is that I believe you don’t have much experience with… feelings? Fear, worry?”

“Not quite. I don’t think it’s that necessary…” Sherlock looks at his feet. He usually wouldn’t care what anyone thinks of him. But with John… he feels almost guilty.

John puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, and Sherlock suppresses a flinch. What is he doing?

“It’s alright. I can help.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Um. If you’ll let me.”

Sherlock almost thinks he meant something else entirely, because John’s hand moves and slides across his shoulder blade. His mouth runs dry, but John only gives him a squeeze in the shoulder, before dropping his hand back to his side.

Sherlock clears his throat in an attempt to get his voice back. “Of course. I’d be honoured.”

John smiles and holds out his hand. “Friends, then?”

Sherlock’s heart sinks. Nonetheless, he shakes the hand that is offered to him, savouring the feel of John’s hand in his.

“Friends.”

//

Moments later, a cab arrives at the square, and a lean man jumps out. He scurries over to the two of them, saying, “Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”

John immediately points at Sherlock, who doesn’t look quite as alarmed as John is feeling.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I take it you are Will Hudson, son on Martha Hudson?” the calm change of tone in Sherlock’s voice is almost eerie.

“Indeed I am. Now please get in the cab: we have little time to lose.”

Sherlock nods and follows the stranger into the cab. John follows closely behind. 

“So, you know where they are?” John asks the man -Will-, who is already sitting in the passenger seat.

“Of course I do. I know exactly who we’re dealing with. I’ve been worried this might happen, worried for years… Still am.”

“Clearly,” Sherlock mumbles as he and John get in the car.

John looks at Sherlock, who is focused intently on the man in front of him. He can imagine him deducing everything about Will’s life right at this moment. He looks over at the young man again, trying to see like Sherlock would, but all he finds is that he’s just a father, worried about his children. Clearly.

“So, do tell. Where are we going?”

Sherlock can see Will frown in the rearview mirror. He’s trying to keep calm, to stay cool. He won’t be able to hold on much longer, though; the man is dying inside. 

“Café des planètes. Or at least, what used to be. The cafe was closed due to risk of collapse. It’s been empty for years…”

“Wait, why are we going there? How do you know they went there? It sounds quite unsafe.”

“Café des planètes is where we always went for our dates. It closed down years ago, together with our relationship.”

“Wait, this kill- kidnapper is your  _ ex _ ?” John exclaims, ignoring Sherlock’s “Obviously”.

“Yes. Our breakup was quite hard on him. He stalked me for months before I finally got him a restraining order. I feel like he’s never really gotten over it, though. He always threatened me, saying that ‘We’ll be together again soon’. I always feared this day would come. I never realised he would go as far as to kidnap my children…”

“It’s a ‘he’. Told you, John. You’re Mrs Hudson’s gay son, right?” Sherlock says. John flashes him a glare, and Will seems to hesitate.

“Oh. Not good?” he turns to John, in search of help.

John nods. “A bit not good, yeah.”

“No, it’s fine,” Will responds. “It’s just, you never know. Sometimes my response to that question could end up getting me beat up.” He turns to Sherlock. “I could see that that won’t happen with you, though.”

Sherlock’s neck burns bright red. He hopes that John is stupid enough to not get what he is talking about.

He never finds out, though, because the cab comes to a sudden halt, in front of an abandoned building. Will tells both of them to get out here, while he pays the cabbie.

Sherlock checks his watch. 10 minutes left until the kidnapper starts hurting the child.

The building has an unearthly feel to it. John can feel it instantly as he lays eyes on it. The blackened bricks seem to cast a shadow on the road, stretching over the two of them and swallowing all light. He feels little. He must act bravely; brave like a soldier. 

Sherlock takes in the whole appearance of the building. It does seem to be abandoned. It appears filled with dread, to the ordinary viewer, but Sherlock knows looks deceive. The vines growing through the cracks of the cement, making its way inside. The dark bricks standing dutifully upright, while the rest of the building seems rotten, dangerously hanging and about to fall. This building must have been through a lot. Sherlock can see it all, as if counting the rings in the trunk of a tree. It has been empty for 10 years, 4 months. A fire blackened most of the visible bricks in the front, but the fire can’t have been that large, seen as the soot does not reach higher than 2 meters, and the wooden beams above seem unscathed.

Will joins them once again, and leads into the building without hesitation. The lack of fear brings courage to John as well, who follows him inside. Sherlock takes one last look at the front, for a few more necessary deductions, before he goes in.

//

They arrive in a corridor. Sherlock can hear footsteps in a distance, which tells him which room the kidnapper is in. He shares it with the less observant people in his group, which includes everyone but him.

“We need a plan,” John whispers.

“Good idea. I say one of you,” Will gestures between the two of them, “-goes in through the back, to try to get the element of surprise in our favour. You can attack him from behind while I try to talk him into giving my family back.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “That won’t do,” he whispers. “He won’t just release them, not without anything in return. We need to free them ourselves. Perhaps someone can sneak around, free them, while the others distract him.”

“I’ll do it,” John and Sherlock say in unison.

Will sighs impatiently. “You two figure that out, I’m going in to get my family!” He is about to leave, when Sherlock grabs him by his collar and turns him back around.

Sherlock’s surprisingly strong for such a skinny guy, John thinks.

“You are not going anywhere. And keep your voice down. We need a tactic first,” Sherlock whispers.

“Fine. You,” he points at John, “sneak around the back and find a hiding place and an entrance to that room. While we distract him, making his back turn to the hostages, you untie them, or open their cage, or door; whatever it is he’s kept them in… Oh, my poor babies… My mum…”

“Now is not the time to wallow, Mr Hudson. We have about 4 minutes left until he starts hurting your child. John, get to the back. I noticed there’s a window around the side which leads into the room: you can climb through there. If there’s anything wrong, you can let us know by holding up three fingers, or simply texting me if you have the time. We will try to distract him, but if it doesn’t work, if he notices you… Run. Do not linger, do not hesitate or wait for me. You run, okay?”

John straightens his back and gives Sherlock a sharp nod, before disappearing outside. Ever the soldier. 

“Shall we?”

Sherlock nods, and Will storms in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter will include some intense kidnapping scenes... So look forward to that!  
> Please leave a comment to tell me what you thought of this chapter: comments make my day :D  
> See you soon! <3


	9. Don't come any closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last time:   
> Sherlock and Will (Mrs Hudson's son) are about to enter the room where the kidnapper is hiding. John has sneaked around the back in order to free the children while Sherlock and Will distract the kidnapper.

“193, 192, 191, 190, 189…”

Sherlock crouches in the door frame. He waits for a signal from John. He holds Will back with one hand, before peeking around the corner.

A small man stands about 4 metres away from him, whispering numbers while he turns around something. Sherlock can’t see what he’s facing: it’s just out of view.

The man appears to be wearing a black, faux fur cape. His hair is wild but barely there; his trousers have holes in them, mainly around the knee area… 

“There!” Sherlock whispers. He can see what he had been facing, just between his legs. It’s a frightened child. 

“My baby…” Will swallows a sob.

Sherlock can just about spot John in a window, who nods at him to go.

And Sherlock gets up. In plain sight.

//

“174… 173… 172, 171… Oh hello there!” the figure turns swiftly around at Sherlock, as if sensing that he was there. 

“Hello.” Sherlock’s voice is low, careful. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, just terrific. At least, if you have brought what I have asked you for.” The man treads closer to Sherlock, and although his eyes are wild and dangerous, Sherlock does not budge.

“I know he is here. I know he is, I know he is!” he says sing-songy. 

Sherlock steps away, revealing the crouching Will behind him. 

“Andy,” he greets awkwardly.

Andy gasps. “He is, he is! Oh, this is the best day of my life, the best!” he twists around happily. 

Sherlock quickly attracts Andy’s attention back to him, to give John the chance to sneak in.  _ Whatever you do, do not look over at him… _

“Hey, Andy? Tell me, why did you want Will here?”

Andy promptly faces Sherlock again. “Oh, but aren’t you a great detective? You should know already!”

Sherlock senses John climbing through the window and hiding behind a fallen wardrobe.

“I prefer to hear it from you.” He smiles.

//

John breathes heavily and crouches behind the wardrobe. He wills his breath to steady and his heart to slow its beat, before carefully glancing around the corner. The man with the hideous cape has turned his back to him. Good. 

He shuffles around his cover, careful not to make any sound. He peeks over the wood, looking for the hostages. There- not too far, he sees two pairs of frightful eyes looking up at him. He has no sight of the older woman.

He is about to inch over to the children, when he hears a loud banging sound. He jerks his head around at the sound. “Oh, Sherlock, what are you doing...” he breathes.

//

“Of course you do. It is a wonderful story after all! I shall tell you from the beginning. You see, I am not whatever you think I am. I am not crazy, like everyone says! They should be on my side, you know. Everyone should. If they would just listen…” Andy is about to turn around to look at the children.

“I will listen!” Sherlock says briskly, making Andy turn around with a large grin on his face.

“Yes, yes you will, won’t you? And Willie will too! He will finally listen to  _ me _ , instead of his  _ family _ !” He clenches his teeth at that word. Will flinches when Andy gets closer.

“Do not come any closer, Andy. He can hear you perfectly well from there.”

Andy takes one step back. Sherlock sees John peer over the wardrobe in the corner of his eye. 

“Four… three… two… one.” 

Sherlock sees it all happen in slow-motion.

Andy makes a motion to get the child, his body already turning half-way toward the place where the boy is tied up. 

He sees John inch away from his hiding place…

He doesn’t think a second longer, grabs the nearest object, a metal rod, between the rubble, and throws it on the kidnapper’s feet.

The rod bounces off his feet, making a loud banging sound as it falls to the floor. Andy yelps in pain and looks at Sherlock accusingly. 

Sherlock lets out a quiet sigh of relief.  _ It worked, John can go on undisturbed now.  _

“Sorry about that. I just.. dropped it.” He gives an awkward smile and hopes it can come across as plain clumsiness. Apparently it can.

Andy continues: “Alright. So, I am going to tell you two my story. Will, you do not even know half the truth. Soon, you’ll be with me again…”

//

The loud sound was John’s saviour, he knows that now. The kidnapper has turned his back to him again, allowing him to shuffle away from his hiding spot.

The children let out a whimper of fear when he gets close, but he signals for them to keep quiet. He tries to let them know it’s going to be okay, but it’s difficult to when he cannot speak. Instead, he gestures towards their chains. They nod, causing more tears to roll across their cheeks. He gets to work on cutting through the rope behind their backs.

If only Sherlock can keep that man distracted…

//

“Will, back when I worked in your father’s old cartel… it wasn’t what you were told. I only hurt people when it was necessary: you understand that, right? I would never hurt you.”

Will jumps up in rage. “You killed and tortured half a dozen people!”

Andy smiles sadly. “But never  _ you _ .” After Sherlock calmed Will down a bit, he continued: “I only hurt when I needed to. It was part of my job. I didn’t tell you, because I knew how you’d react. If your  _ mother _ hadn’t intervened, we would still be happy together!”

Will tries to react calmly this time, thinking about his children, his family that he needs to keep safe. “My mother did the right thing for me. For both of us. I would have found out eventually, and it would not have been so-”

“LET. ME. TALK.” Andy growls at him. Will immediately shuts his mouth. “You need to hear my part of the story. Just listen, and you’ll understand…”

Sherlock looks between the two men, trying not to show his aversion. He is growing impatient; he would rather not stay with this insane man any longer than necessary. He can’t help but wonder if John is nearly done. 

//

His keys aren’t sharp enough, the rope is too thick. Unlike the rope, John’s patience is wearing thin. Suddenly, one of the children’s eyes grow even larger than before. John has this creeping sensation that he is looking at something… behind him.

He turns around, and stifles a scream when a knife is tossed at him.

//

“Your own mother told you that I was dangerous. You believed her. You broke up with me, and when I tried to tell you the real story, you filed a restraining order.”

Sherlock holds back a giggle. Not too well.

“It’s not funny! Will, for years and years, all I wanted was to see you again.” Tears well up in the man’s eyes. “Then, two weeks ago, I saw you in the newspaper. “Family of four wins prize with best family portrait”, it read. You, and your happy family. After all this time, I didn’t expect you to find someone else. Not to worry: I have come to save you. I read the article, your words, over and over and over… It is obvious, my darling, that you are not happy with your family. That newspaper article- it was a scream for help, wasn’t it? You needed me to save you.” He has a bewildered look in his eyes. It makes Sherlock’s skin cool and a chill run up his spine.

“Andy, you are delusional,” Will says carefully. “You are not well. I need you to know, that I am very happy with my family. So please, let them go. Please, please…” He drops down on his knees again, his fear spreading through his body, the anxiety gathering in his eyes and falling to the ground.

Andy shows him a smile. It is not a compassionate smile. It is wicked. He pays no attention to the begging and continues his narrative:

“So, these past weeks, I was preparing the perfect chance to get you. I realised you would drop your children off at your mother’s soon, seeing as it was the holidays. It would be my perfect opportunity to get revenge, and get you back. It was easy, too. All I had to do was climb through the window, inject the rabbit with poison, make sure someone would find him by laying him out in the open, go to the park in front of the house, and wait until they fled. A piece of cake.”

“YOU KILLED BLUEBELL?”

//

John catches the knife perfectly, thankfully without cutting him. He looks into the dark corner, looking for where on earth that knife came from. 

Then, he spots a figure in the dark. It is difficult to imagine how he hadn’t seen it before, now that he does. The figure of a lady is hidden between the shadows, and she is smiling at him. John frowns. The lady appears to be tied to a pole, her hands tied to her sides, and her feet barely touching the ground. He squints. 

It is Mrs Hudson. 

Now he has to make a decision. Whose ropes does he cut first?

//

“Yes, I killed the rabbit. Who even cares. Now let me continue.”

Will is now quietly sobbing. This makes Sherlock reevaluate his deductions: Bluebell was probably his childhood rabbit. 

“I was in the park. Waiting until all those policemen finally finished asking your mother questions. Then, finally, they were alone. I got the note and got ready to make them pass out, when…  _ He  _ came along.” He points at Sherlock, who looks awkward. “You made me wait much longer. But it was somehow perfect, because I knew you would be back, and you would bring me Will. And look at what happened!” He gestures grandly at Will, who still looks incredibly uncomfortable.

“Andy, you’re not going home with Will, and you know it.”

“Of course I am. He’s right here, and he’ll do anything I say as long as I have his family here. Isn’t that right, Will?” 

Will doesn’t reply.

“How about this, Andy. You surrender to the police now, and I will treat you a bit more lightly before the police arrive. If you don’t surrender right now, I’ll cripple you right on this spot to  _ make _ you wait for the police.” Sherlock can sense John in the corner of his eye, glancing over at him with this comment.

Andy swallows hard, but pretends to be undeterred. “You don’t have the strength to even hold me down, boy.” His voice has changed; its playful tone has disappeared and made room for a low growl.

Just when Sherlock opened his mouth for defence, two small figures raced past him. He looks up worriedly, but he’s too late: the kidnapper has already turned around, and has spotted John. They both act with the speed of light: John rises from the floor and lifts a knife, while Andy takes a step in his direction.

Sherlock is frozen to his spot, while he sees it happen: the moment seems to drag on into hours, each move in slow-motion to Sherlock: John takes a step forward, his knife raised up beside his head, ready to attack. Will runs toward the exit while Andy’s back is turned, racing after his kids. Andy moves toward John to go into attack- he must have been running, yet it seems like a slow pace to Sherlock- when suddenly he diverts his path. He turns around, and makes a run for the exit. He would have made it, if it wasn’t for-

BANG. BANG. 

Sherlock’s world comes to play at regular speed again at the sound of these gunshots. His eyes follow John’s body- he was unharmed - , his own, which also seems unharmed, before his glance turns to Andy. Andy is looking down, a sheer look of horror on his face.

Blood spills down the length of his pant leg. He stumbles and falls down onto the concrete floor.

Sherlock finds himself just staring at him.  _ I was going to do that,  _ he sighs.

He grabs his handcuffs from his belt and fixes the perpetrator with his handcuffs. He holds him down while he looks over at John. John nods at him, before disappearing through the window as a shortcut to find Will and his children.

Sherlock frowns as he looks around the room. Someone must have fired that shot: but the room appears empty.

He shakes his head.  _ That’s a mystery for another time _ . He forces the perpetrator to stand. He whimpers, but complies. Sherlock practically drags him outside, leaving the abandoned house behind him. 

If it really was abandoned.

//

John crouches next to the children as he talks to them. He chats with their parents, who are seated in the back of an ambulance, sharing a shock blanket between them. He makes silly faces at the children, earning some big laughs from the children and happy smiles from their parents.

“Sherlock? Are you listening?”

“Hm?” Sherlock diverts his attention from his friend in the distance and focuses on Lestrade again, who is discussing the case with him.

“I was saying, we need to discuss your payment soon. You’ve done a good job here catching that kidnapper. I’d hate for your efforts to go unrewarded-”

“No need. How was the date?”

Lestrade blinks, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “It was… fine. It was cut short though, just because  _ somebody _ refuses to talk to any officer but me about what happened.”

Sherlock doesn’t acknowledge the comment; he’s looking over at John again.

Lestrade realises he isn’t heard, so he continues, “Yes, the date was cut short. I didn’t even get the chance to  _ kiss _ hi-”

Sherlock visibly flinches before snapping his head back toward Lestrade. “I did  _ not _ want to hear that.” He waits a moment, the words hitting him with a second blow. He shudders. “God, no. Please keep that to yourself. Listen, I need to go now. If you’re so desperate to pay me, then go ahead. You can deliver it to 221B Baker Street.”

Lestrade is about to follow up with more questions, when John strolls over to him. He nods. “Alright, I’ll ask you the rest later. Okay, Sherlock? Don’t leave here before you’ve answered more of my questions!”

Sherlock nods vaguely, but he is captivated by John. Lestrade sighs and walks over to the other officers.

“So, you said goodbye to the children then?”

John nods. “Yes, I did. They’re very sweet, you know. I met their other dad too; nice guy. I can imagine why that kidnapper was jealous of him.” Sherlock gives him a look. “I’m kidding! Jeez, he’s like twice my age; I’m not that desperate, Sherlock.” He snickers. 

Sherlock tries to ignore how much it rolls off the tongue when John says his name.

“So, who do you think fired the shot?”

John’s smile fades away, making place for uneasiness. “I- I’m not sure.”

Sherlock frowns. The detective in him wakes up, and he notices how John’s ears are slightly red, how he’s averting his eyes and clenching his fist; he’s lying.

John occasionally gives something in the distance a glance. Sherlock follows the look skeptically.

It lands on Mrs Hudson.

“Mrs Hudson?” he asks.

John’s face lights up in surprise. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t know, I noticed.”

“Right, of course. Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, because she made me promise not to blab, but… Technically I didn’t tell you, did I?”

Sherlock nods, intrigued. 

“Okay, so… I don’t know if you saw, but in the shadows, she was also tied up. She threw me a knife. She must have grabbed that off of that kidnapper. I was able to use the knife to cut her loose. I watched you to make sure you had the situation under control. I started cutting the children loose too, when you suddenly started threatening to cripple him. I figured the situation was getting out of hand, so Mrs Hudson and I quietly agreed to let the children run for the exit. It would ensure that they were safe and direct the kidnapper’s attention away from you. She grabbed a gun from out of her stockings. Did you have any idea she was this badarse? Anyway, she grabbed the gun and covered me from the shadows in case something went wrong. Then he did something unexpected: he ran toward the exit. Thankfully Mrs Hudson had excellent reflexes -where does a grandmother even get those skills?- and shot him. When I looked around, she had vanished already. She must’ve climbed out of the window, called the police and pretended she had just been on a stroll this entire time… what?”

Sherlock was smirking at him. “Nothing, just you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re so quaint. It wasn’t unexpected of him to turn around to head for the exit.”

“How so?”

“Sentiment. The love of his life had just run out of the room; he’d rather follow him out of there instead of staying to fight with members of the police, don’t you think?”

“Huh. You’re right.” John smiled slightly. “Brilliant. And Mrs Hudson?”

“Used to run a violent cartel together with her husband.”

“ _ Really? _ Huh. That actually explains a lot.”

Sherlock smiles at John, but when he averts his eyes, his smile fades. “Oh, god.”

John turns around to see what he’s looking at. “What is it?”

“Lestrade. He’s beckoning me over. He will start walking over here in three, two…”

Lestrade strolls over to the two of them, clearly wanting to speak to John.

Sherlock grabs hold of John’s arm. “John, we should leave now. Please, I cannot stand to hear him talk about him and my brother anymore. Let alone the fact that he will ask us about who fired the shot-”

“Say no more.” Before Lestrade is able to get close to the, John turns around with Sherlock still on his arm, and starts running. Sherlock lets go of his arm and runs with him.

Lestrade stops in his tracks and calls after them, but before his call reaches them, they’re already around a corner.

//

“I think… we can… stop now,” Sherlock pants. 

“Yes, that would be…” John stumbles to a halt. “... great.”

Sherlock chuckles. “What,” John asks.

“Nothing, just… this is me.”

They look up at the door they stopped in front of. It spells ‘221 B’ on the front of it.

John shakes his head at the absurdity of it. A smile spreads across his face. They both start giggling, while catching their breath.

“Would you…” Sherlock can’t finish the sentence as the giggles bubble to the surface again.

John understands and nods. “After you.”

Sherlock opens the door and soon they both stumble inside, their laughs still not subsided.

John’s breath is knocked out of his lungs when he sees the inside clearly for the first time: the hall is quite empty, save for a hat stand and a bench, and yet it feels very welcoming. His heart swells as he thinks about the fact that this is the hallway Sherlock comes home to every day.

He swirls around to face Sherlock.

He severely underestimated how close Sherlock was standing, as he almost hit Sherlock’s head with his own with his turn. 

Almost.

They are both aware how close they are standing to each other, yet no one moves. Their giggles have subsided, making room for a comfortable, yet tension-filled silence as they stare at each other.

John licks his lips as he looks from Sherlock’s eyes over to his lips. Sherlock does the same. He inches closer almost unnoticeably. 

John’s eyes instinctively flutter closed, when-

“Hello?” The yell from outside is followed by an insistent knocking on the door.

John flinches and steps away from Sherlock. His eyes are wide with embarrassment.

Sherlock’s cheeks turn vermillion as he turns to the door.

“What do you want?”

Lestrade smiles cheekily at him from the other side.

“Your brother needs to speak to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Let me know if you enjoyed it too! :)


	10. I'm sorry I left you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last time: Sherlock and John solved the case and ran back to 221B Baker Street (with lots of giggles). Right when they almost kissed, Lestrade interrupted them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reached over 20 000 words on this story already! And I'm still not done ;)   
> Enjoy chapter 10! <3

John looks awkwardly between Greg and the boy he had just attempted to kiss. 

“I should probably go,” he quietly announces, already grabbing his coat.

Sherlock attempts to protest, but he knows it’s a lost cause: before he knows it, John has disappeared through the front door. He’s left alone with Lestrade.

“Well, now that that’s settled, how about we go up for some tea?” Lestrade says.

Sherlock doesn’t respond; he only glares at him and storms upstairs.

  
“Teens these days…”

//

“How could you do that?!”

“Come on, Sherlock. It was a joke! Lighten up a little.”

Sherlock spins around to face the traitor which he used to think of as a friend. “A  _ joke _ ? Oh, so you meant to be  _ funny _ when you rid me of any chance with John! Now, that’s terrific. All is forgiven, then!” he grits his teeth as he marches toward the kitchen.  _ John was going to kiss me _ . He shakes the thought away. That opportunity has flown.

“Oh please, that boy is absolutely smitten with you. This won’t change anything, trust me.”

For a moment, Sherlock forgets to show his anger, and his face lights up instead. “Really, you think so?”

“Obviously. Don’t even worry about it. I just needed you to know how it feels to be robbed from your date-night-kiss!”

Sherlock frowns. “That wasn’t necessary. I didn’t even think anything would happen. And now I’ll have to apologise to John…” The frustration bubbles to the surface again and Sherlock lets it all out by repeatedly kicking the cupboard at his feet. He doesn’t even notice Greg standing next to him before he feels his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, he’ll forgive you, I promise. He’ll be snogging you all over before you know it. You can just tell him that your big brother sent me to make sure you two behaved.”

“Did he?” Sherlock eyes him suspiciously. 

Lestrade hides his mischievous grin. “Perhaps.”

“Anyways, I didn’t come here just to torture you.” He accepts the cup of tea offered by Sherlock and takes a sip. “I also came to give you this,” Lestrade gets an envelope from the inner pocket in his jacket. “I insist. Maybe you can take John out to dinner with it?” he hints.

Sherlock accepts the envelope begrudgingly. “You can tell my brother I’m doing fine without his intervenience.”

“Will do. Although it’s easier for him to accept that when he can actually  _ see _ it.” 

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you can’t expect to be an independent adult if you live here on your own without a steady source of income. What I’m saying is… Maybe you should think about getting a flatmate to split the charges with. And, you know, actually  _ accept _ the money you get offered.” Lestrade downs his tea, having said enough. He leaves just as Sherlock walks over to the living room to sit in his chair. The two do not need to say goodbye; they know they’ll see each other soon.

Sherlock is left alone in his flat.

//

The silence in the flat has a suffocating grip on Sherlock. His thoughts are torturing him: all the what if-s and confusion are clouding his brain. He decides to give a certain person a call to ease his anxiety a bit.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sherlock Holmes. Do you mind bringing John?”

The person on the other end of the line sighs. “Of course. We were afraid you’d never call.”

“‘We’?”

“Well, John and I. Don’t worry, I’ll get him for ya. Be there in ten.”

With that, they end the call. Sherlock breathes a sigh of relief. Soon, he’ll be able to make it all better.

//

No less than ten minutes later, the sound of a knock on the door reaches an anxious Sherlock. He rushes to the door, eager to find who is on the other side.

“Hi,” a brown-haired girl greets him, as he opens the door.

“Hello Irene. Thank you for looking after John for me. Truly, if you ever need anything…”

“... I say the word. Yes, I know: you say that every time. And yet you never come over when I ask you to.” She hands the animal carrier over to him.

“I know, Irene. I promise I will, soon. Goodnight!” he slams the door in her face. _Bloody Irene_. She always tries to seduce him whenever they’re alone together. He’s found it to be the best solution to avoid hanging out with her as much as possible.

Sherlock sighs and takes a look at his pet inside the animal carrier.

“Good to see she took good care of you.”

He takes her upstairs and lets her out of her cage immediately. She immediately trots over to Sherlock and puts her front paws on his leg.

“All right, I’ve got you.” He picks her up and lays her on the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry I left you, John. You know don’t like leaving you like that. But… this evening was worth it.” Sherlock’s face lights up as he tells his pet all about the evening he had with her namesake. He has the feeling she’s actually listening, which is something he probably values most in his companion: she doesn’t judge him or try to talk back. She just listens.

And that’s what she does for the rest of the evening: until she falls asleep in the palm of his hand, cuddling up on the soft surface while his baritone voice hums around her.

Sherlock sighs at the sweet sight of it. He gently runs a finger across her belly. It is growing larger already, as the hoglets inside grow larger as well. He cannot wait to meet the little hedgehogs.

He gently positions himself onto the couch, careful not to wake his sleeping pet. He puts her on his chest, feeling the warmth of her belly warm his own. Sleep washes over him as soon as he rests his head, the beat of his heart slowing to match the soft beating of John’s heart.

//

Sherlock is awoken to the sound of his alarm going off. For a moment, he is terribly confused what is making that awful noise and who on earth had the audacity to wake him up on a Tuesday morning. Then he remembered: it was himself.

“Shiiiiiii-” Sherlock throws the blanket off of him and jumps up, swearing continuously, racing into the kitchen. He checks the clock. 

Ten minutes until his class starts.

He hastily munches on an old bread roll, rinses his mouth with some water, before he rushes into the living room to find his things.

“I never use that chemistry book; how could I have lost it?” He ties his shoes while he scans the room. Couch, case, police badge, stack of papers, his hedgehog, violin… He does a double take. His  _ hedgehog _ .

“Oh, John! Sorry my girl, you must be starving. I’ll get you some food. How could I forget-”

_ Forget. _ His chemistry book. Of course, he must have forgotten it at school. It wasn’t like him to forget it, but then again; if you eliminate the impossible (the book being in this room; he looked everywhere), whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Namely: he forgot his book.

That, and he was quite…  _ distracted _ yesterday.

His mind flies to last night again. The thrilling case, John and him running through the streets of London while giggling, the almost-kiss. He sighs at what could have been.

Surely he spoiled all his chances of getting with John yesterday. He probably won’t ever see him again.

He trudges toward the cupboard and fills his hedgehog’s bowl with food. She looks up curiously from her cozy little bed, then hauls herself up to nibble on the food.

_ She must have trotted over to her own bed sometime last night _ , Sherlock wonders.

He checks his watch and mutters under his breath. One minute until class starts.

He is incredibly late.

//

Sherlock is about to go through the door, when he is stopped at the sight of something on his doorstep. Or rather, some _ one _ .

“Hi.”

Sherlock’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Hello John.”

John clears his throat. “I’ll cut straight to the chase as I see you’re in a hurry. Do you know where my cane is?”

Sherlock swallows and turns to look at John more carefully. His cane is missing, making him stand in an awkward stature. And yet…

“You were running yesterday.”

“Yes I was.” John’s eyes don’t leave Sherlock's, his gaze serious.

“What does that mean?” Sherlock’s voice is tiny. His heart beats so fast it seems to want to escape from his chest.

“I don’t know. But, uhm.” He pauses and looks at the ground. “I need it now. I can’t... not like this.” He gestures at his body. Then he makes eye contact again.

His eyes seem tired. Fragile. 

It makes Sherlock want to pick him up and wrap him in a blanket and tell him everything will be okay.

Which he doesn’t do.

“Of course. I just-” Sherlock’s eyes catch his watch. “I can’t find it now. I’m late. But…”

John watches as Sherlock grabs an umbrella from the hallway and single-handedly rips off the top. He hands it to him.

“Oh, you just. Oh. Isn’t that? D-don’t you need that umbrella?” he stammers.

“No, it’s fine. It’s my brother’s.” He grins.

John smiles back gratefully and taps his new temporary cane on the ground. “Thanks. I suppose you have to…?” He takes a step to the side and gestures.

“I have to…? OH! Right! I have to get to my lecture!” He rushes past John and slams the door behind him. He turns around for a moment, and yells: 

“We’ll find your cane later!”

John grins at him and turns on his heel. As he walks away, his new cane taps rhythmically on the pavement next to him. 

_ Tick. Tock. _


	11. Held up by attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last time: John showed up on Sherlock's doorstep to ask him where his cane was. Sherlock didn't know, but promised John they'd look for it later. After his Chemistry class.

“And so there is more to the attraction of protons than you have been taught previously. This attraction-

“Ah, mister Holmes, how kind of you to join us today.”

Sherlock quietly closes the door behind him, mumbling as he hurries toward his seat. 

“And what’s your reason this time, Mr Holmes? Traffic? Almost got run over by a cab, or your pet hedgehog was lost?” The professor laughs to himself as if he has just told the funniest joke in the history of jokes. There’s some nervous laughter scattered across the room.

“On the contrary, Mr Becker. I was simply held up by…” Sherlock glances toward the writing on the chalkboard. “...Attraction.”

Mr Becker raises his eyebrow. “Attraction. Is that right? How so?”

His mind flies back to what happened ten minutes ago. John, on his doorstep. Asking him where his cane was. The promise.

“Attraction, yes. Something else  _ attracted _ my attention. Like a proton and an electron, if you will.” Someone in the back guffaws. Sherlock smirks but keeps his eyes fixed on the professor.

The professor takes a threatening step toward the teen. The room falls silent. The silence is deafening and Sherlock smirk fades away as Mr Becker walks the rest of the distance to his desk.

“As I was going to explain before, before you so rudely decided to interrupt my lesson with your cunning remarks,” he spoke slowly and threateningly, only just loud enough for others to hear, “electrons and protons stay apart because of kinetic energy. So I suggest you act like an electron and stay away from your distractions. Unless you would like to be disintegrated.” He turns to face the rest of the class again. “You see, class, should you elect to ignore the kinetic energy, then you shouldn’t expect to be in the situation you are now ever again.” The tension in the room is palpable. Everyone is aware that the professor is no longer just talking about atoms.

As Mr Becker walks back to his desk, Sherlock checks the clock.

_ Another one and a half hours of this hellish class. _ He sighs and leans back defeatedly in his chair.

//

As Mr Becker rambles on about atomic forces and other things which don’t interest Sherlock nearly as much as they should do, Sherlock’s thoughts race through his head. The thoughts grasp for his attention while he tries to keep his focus on the lecture. 

Which he fails to maintain.

_ Has John forgiven me? _ he can’t help but think.  _ Is he really interested in him? Or had he been relieved that Lestrade interrupted their kiss? _ The thoughts gnaw at him now that they’ve grasped his attention. Worry fills him while relief spills over.

“Mr Holmes, what do you think?”

All at once, his attention snaps back to the class. He looks up to find two dozen eyes staring at him.

_ What was the question? _

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Where do you think it is?”

Sherlock tries to get his mind back in order. They were talking about atoms. Surely-

“I do believe it is located in the nucleus, sir.” 

A few giggles rise silently behind him, piercing his back. He refuses to acknowledge it.

“Your  _ chemistry book _ is located in the nucleus? I do believe that’s not very probable.”

Sherlock forces smile through gritted teeth. “Of course it isn’t, sir. I was merely joking. I didn’t bring my book because I thought I had left it here. It appears I was wrong.”

The professor looked at him sternly, but his eyes were dancing. 

“There hasn’t been a book left here, that I am aware of. Are you saying you  _ lost _ the only book of this course? Are you that incapable of handling your possessions? Or did your  _ hedgehog _ eat it?” He smiles mischievously. 

That joke about his hedgehog has never been funny, and yet he elects to continue telling it because it amuses him how it aggravates Sherlock.

“No, sir. I’m sure it’s somewhere in my flat. I’ll bring it next time.”

His cruel enjoyment reaches its crescendo as he says:

“Would everyone be so kind as to turn to page 186? We’re going to do some reading. Mr Holmes, would you do the honours?”

Sherlock’s head starts to hurt with held-in tears and anger. He shakes his head a little and lowers his voice as he says, “I can’t.”

“What’s that, Holmes? Please speak up when you’re talking to the class.”

He swallows and raises his chin. “I can’t, sir. I do not have the book.”

Professor Becker gives him a satisfied, baleful look before assigning another student to read.

Sherlock slumps back in his chair, finally letting go of the tension. He clenches his eyes closed and starts to count down the minutes.

//

By the time there’s only half an hour left, his mind is holding on for dear life as the theories flow inside like rapids. Theories about who John is, all the different ways in which they do not fit together, all the ways in which they do, theories about John’s past life… He figures out quite a lot from the deductions he has done before, but one thing still does not make sense to him: how could John have been running without a cane yesterday, if he was supposed to be injured in his leg? He closes his eyes as he tries to remember what he has read about the subject. Nothing comes up in his mind. If only he could remember things like this…

He thinks back to the day he met John. He was standing comfortably despite his leg. He did have a cane at the time as well. So he had needed the cane before, and had needed it this morning, but no cane when they were running, adrenaline rushing through their veins-

Oh.

He remembers his deductions more clearly.  _ “The limp is at least partly psychosomatic, seeing as you aren’t sitting down at work and seem to almost have forgotten about it…” _

“PSYCHOSOMATIC!” He exclaims. “Of course, it all makes-” he looks around the room. Everyone is gaping at him.

_ Oh. Forgot I was in a classroom for a moment there. _

Professor Becker’s face turns red with fury.

//

(Tuesday, 11.37 a.m.) 

Hello Sherlock.

(Tuesday, 11.38 a.m.)

Oh, you’re probably still in your lecture. Sorry.

Hope your ringtone wasn’t turned on!

_ (Tuesday, 11.40 a.m.) _

_ Hello John. No worries. You sent the message right as I was sent out of the lecture. -SH _

(Tuesday, 11.42 a.m.)

You got sent out?? What happened?

Sherlock sighs as he sits down on an uncomfortable wooden bench.

_ (Tuesday, 11.42 a.m.) _

_ Nothing which may concern you. The professor is simply a prick. -SH _

(Tuesday, 11.42 a.m.)

Sorry to hear that.

_ No you’re not _ , the voice in his head says automatically. He thinks again.  _ Well, he might actually be. But he’s just another person who doesn’t know what to say when he’s feeling down. _

(Tuesday, 11.43 a.m.)

Want to meet up to take your mind off it?

He smirks in serendipity.  _ Or not. _

_ (Tuesday, 11.43 a.m.) _

_ That would be lovely. -SH _

He responds quickly. He is supposed to have another mandatory class in 30 minutes, but… 

_ It can wait. _

//

“Hey, thanks for meeting me here.” He shakes his head. “Hello, John. Thank you for rescuing me from-”  _ No, stupid. I'm not his damsel in distress.  _ “John. What a coincidence, what are you doing here?” He sighs. “That makes no sense, I told him we’d meet up here.”

He looks up at his flat above him. The sunlight reflects off the windows, giving it an angelic glow. He hopes John would see it that way too.

“Why am I doing this?” he mumbles to himself. “I’m supposed to be in class, not meet up in the cafe under my apartment-” his breath hitches in his throat. 

He instantly recognises those blue eyes which light up like the sky when he sees him, those sandy-blonde locks which are combed back away from his face, that face which creates the most intoxicating smile.

“John,” he breathes.

“Hi, Sherlock!” John sits down in the vacated chair in front of Sherlock, looking at him with a cheerful smile on his lips.

Sherlock can’t utter a word. All the words he was going to say have fled his mind and his mouth has run dry.

“Um, are you okay?”

He stares. He opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again.

_ Tell him how gorgeous he’s looking, tell him how happy you are to see him, apologise for the night before, tell him a joke: anything! _

He licks his lips. “Hi.”

John chuckles. “Hi.”

John tells him about his day: something with the tube having a delay, so he had to walk. Something with sunshine. Sherlock’s heart beats angrily in his chest.  _ Why does he have to be this perfect?  _ John’s smiles are rubbing off on him, and soon he’s also grinning like an idiot. 

“So, would you like to order anything?” He gestures at the menu.

“Oh, we could. If- If you want to.” Sherlock is relieved he is finally able to speak, even if it is with hitches and stutters.

“Of course! I definitely think we deserve something after the day we’ve had. What’s your favourite drink here?”

It takes a moment for Sherlock to realise what John means. Of course, he lives right above Speedy’s. He must have had a drink here quite often.

Which he hasn’t.

“Oh, yes. I really recommend the milkshake. They’re extraordinary here.”  _ That’s the safest bet. It’s pretty hard to mess up a milkshake. _

“All right, then!” John gestures to a passing man. “Two vanilla milkshakes for us, sir.”

Sherlock laughs. “What?” John turns to him with a surprised face. 

“That man doesn’t work here.”

The realisation clouds John’s face before he profoundly apologises to the man, who was just about to leave. “Oh, my god…” John groans as he covers his face with his hands.

“It’s okay,” Sherlock says between sniggers. “I’ll go inside to order.”

John laughs defeatedly. “That’s probably a better idea.”

He gets up to order the milkshakes inside. He leaves John, who is supposedly grinning to himself for his idiocy. Sherlock’s smile does not waver as he orders.

He looks over at John while he waits. His makeshift cane is resting against his chair. His eyes move from the cane to John’s fingers rhythmically tapping on the table, to his face. He catches his eye. John smiles at him. Sherlock looks away as butterflies flutter in his stomach.

//

When he returns with the milkshakes, John smiles up at him. 

“I can’t wait to try these! I really love milkshakes,” he says.

Sherlock nods quietly and takes a sip. His eyes grow large. 

“Wow, this is actually good!” he exclaims.

“I thought you had tried this before?”

Sherlock stares into his milkshake shyly. “Yes, it just surprises me every time,” he lies.

John grins knowingly and takes a sip. His face lights up. “Wow, it really is good!”

They chat a little about everything and nothing, Sherlock complaining about his lecture while John looks at him over his milkshake.

They’re nearly finished drinking when John notices something over Sherlock’s shoulder. His smile fades. 

“John? What’s wrong?”

John looks at him, but his eyes are clouded over, like he’s looking straight through him. 

“What, is there something behind me?” He’s about to turn to look, but John catches his hand to stop him.

“Don’t,” he says under his breath.

Sherlock stares from John’s hand on his, to John’s panic-stricken expression.

“Okay,” he whispers as he turns back again.

John stares for a little longer over Sherlock’s shoulder, before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. When he opens his eyes, Sherlock can tell they are back in focus.

“Sorry about that.” He looks at his hand on Sherlock’s and his eyes grow wide. He quickly takes it off and puts it in his lap. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I suppose. Can you tell me what you saw now?”

John shakes his head. “No. It was nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m going to go inside and pay.” And just like that, he leaves the table.

_ Well, that’s strange. _ Sherlock looks behind him now. Nothing there.  _ What did he see? _

When John returns, his smile is back as if the whole affair didn’t happen. “Should we go? I would like to show you something.”

//

John hasn’t brought up the subject since, so Sherlock decides it best to ignore it ever happened. 

“Where are we going?” he asks while they stroll through the streets of London.

“Remember how I told you I lost my cane?”

“Yes-”

“And then you abused an umbrella to make me this one.” He holds up his new cane.

“Yes, of course. It was the least I could do.”

“Thank you,” John says. He looks Sherlock in the eyes. His look is so genuine, Sherlock has a feeling he is not just talking about the cane.

“No problem.” Sherlock looks away.

John clears his throat. “That being said, I would like my old cane back.”

Sherlock snickers. “Of course. I can help you look, if you want?”

John hides a smile as they turn a corner. “There’s no need. I already found it.”

//

They find themselves on an abandoned square. Sherlock looks back into the street they came from, half expecting some sort of portal behind him.

“How did we get here? We were just at Baker Street: this square is nowhere near there!”

John smiles as he walks ahead of Sherlock and gestures him to keep walking. “I know my way around London,” he says.

Sherlock looks around in wonder. The area looks so different in broad daylight. The trees sway silently in the gentle wind, while the small puddles of water in dipping pavement reflect the bright sunlight. 

“It’s really beautiful here,” he whispers.

John stops in his tracks and looks around the little square, paying attention to little details the way Sherlock does. “You’re right,” he says, as he turns to face Sherlock. “It is beautiful.”

Sherlock joins John as they walk toward the center of the square, on which a food truck is situated.

John taps on the truck’s door, and right when Sherlock is starting to think no one is inside, someone opens it.

“Hello?” A girl with mousy-brown, messy hair pokes her head through the door. “Oh John. And Sherlock. One moment.” She closes the door, and a few moments later, she opens it again, this time with neatly combed hair and a scarf neatly wrapped around her hair.

“How do they do that so quick…?” Sherlock mumbles under his breath.

“Yes, Carla… I was wondering if you’ve got…” John stammers.

“Oh!” Carla disappears through the door again. She returns with John’s cane in her hand. “You forgot this yesterday,” she says with a smirk.

John gives her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Carla disappears through the door again, and Sherlock and John are left alone.

“It’s a gift,” John suddenly breaks the silence.

“Sorry?”

“Girls. They’re able to completely change their look in a few moments just by changing their hair. It’s a gift.” He grins at Sherlock. He grins back. 

“So, the cane… I’ve got two now. I-” 

Sherlock takes the umbrella-cane from him. “I’ve got it.”

“Really? You’ll have to carry it all the way to Baker Street though. Are you sure?”

“Of course. I can show it to my brother and torture him with it.” He looks pleased.

“Right.” John pauses for a moment. “Your brother, is he all right? Greg said he needed to speak to you that night. Was it… urgent? Is it all sorted now?”

Sherlock’s heart skips a beat at his innuendo. “Y-yes. All sorted. Just… family stuff. Always something with- with my brother.” He swallows. 

“Right.” John comes a bit closer to Sherlock. Sherlock’s hands begin to feel clammy as he breaks into a sweat. He steps a little bit closer. They are standing so close, he can nearly feel John’s breath on his chest.

“Well, this was fun. I should go.” John steps away from Sherlock again, walking toward the edge of the pavement to get a cab.

Sherlock is left dumbfounded, his heart still threatening to burst out of his chest. “Wait a minute,” he dashes after John, “you’re leaving?”

“Yes, I have a shift tonight. I should be getting ready soon.” He raises his eyes to meet Sherlock’s.

Sherlock gulps. “Okay. Are- are you sure you wouldn’t want to see my place first? We can do a quick tour, it won’t take that long. It could be fun.”

A cab arrives, but John lingers. He turns to face Sherlock. “Nah, bit early to meet the family, don’t you think?” Sherlock frowns, confused. John recuperates, “I meant your hedgehog. I know you’re not that close to your other family.”

He takes a step away and opens the cab door. He grins.

“Another time.” He winks, and gets in the cab.

Sherlock is left standing on the pavement while the cab drives away. His face is flushed and there’s a little self-satisfied smile resting on his lips.

_ Another time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I wrote nearly this entire chapter in one day, because I just had to post it in time! Didn't want to ruin my streak ;)  
> If you liked this chapter (or if you didn't and you've got constructive criticism... or if you have certain theories about this story which you want to share, or... anything!), please leave a comment. Comments make me so happy: it makes me realise that other people are actually involved in this story as much as I am! :)  
> <3


	12. Another time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last time:  
> John and Sherlock went to get milkshakes at Speedy's and then went off to find John's cane. When John had to go, he promised he would visit Sherlock's flat "another time".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't update last week! I was really unmotivated to write, and didn't know what to write... Well, at least that turned out okay eventually.  
> But there goes my streak! :(   
> I'll try to keep posting every week nonetheless. Enjoy the chapter! <3

Sherlock’s fingers dance along to the music playing from his headphones. The blueish light from the laptop illuminates his face as he types restlessly on the keys, searching for an answer. Something nudges his hand, as if motioning for him to stop typing at lightning speed. He absentmindedly puts his pet in one of his hands, which does in fact slow his typing pace. The hedgehog gives a low, purring growl in response.

“How are you doing, John?” Sherlock mumbles as he takes his eyes off his screen for a moment to look at his pet. “I hope you’re still doing well. I’m doing this for you, after all.” He gestures towards his computer. It has several tabs opened; all about hedgehog pregnancy.

Sherlock puts John on his lap and gently scratches her under her chin. 

“I’m not even sure what to do when the day comes. I feel so…” he thinks for a moment, carefully choosing his words. “...out of control.”

“I don’t like being out of control.” He opens another tab and starts typing. 

He presses enter, flinches, and slams his laptop closed with a horrified expression. 

“Well, we’re never doing that again,” he says, under his breath. 

John looks up at him curiously. Sherlock chuckles and rubs his eyes to get rid of the image in his brain. 

“I suppose I’ll just ask John sometime.”

//

Sherlock walks into the kitchen, a stack of post-its in one hand and a pen in the other. He boils some water for a cup of tea and turns around to face the empty wall behind him.

At least, it used to be empty.

The wall is now filled with three different colours of post-its, which all have questions scribbled on them. It has a colourful effect on the usually plain kitchen, and yet Sherlock is not satisfied. He walks closer in order to inspect the texts more closely. Some post-its contain basic questions, such as, ‘Where should baby hedgehogs sleep?’, while others get more and more complicated: ‘How do I ensure no one dies before, after, and during the birth?’, ‘Can baby hedgehogs be around chemical experiments?’ and ‘How do you assist a hedgehog during birth?’.

Sherlock sighs and grabs a fresh post-it from the pile. He writes something on it and pastes it on the wall.

“ _ Will John be able to answer my questions? _ ”

//

Sherlock slumps into his chair, sipping his tea. The wall of post-its has only grown larger by time: spreading like a virus, nagging questions at him which he does not know the answers to. The questions on the wall only rise more unanswered questions in his head. He decides not to waste post-its any longer and chooses to forget the questions clouding his brain. 

He grabs his phone. 12 missed calls. When he taps on the notification, he sees that two names appear on screen: ‘Mummy: 5 missed calls’ and ‘Mycroft: 7 missed calls’. He scoffs. Typical that Mycroft is more worried than his own mother.

He and deletes the messages: they will only yell at him for leaving school without permission. He does not care for his brother yelling at him again for being a failure.

He prefers to text anyway: less emotion showing. 

Sherlock turns the phone in his palm and starts typing.

_ (Friday, 1.40 p.m.)  _

_ Hello. -SH _

He taps impatiently on his chair’s armrest, waiting for a response. When it doesn’t come for a while, he starts typing again.

_ (Friday, 1.43 p.m.) _

_ Is now ‘another time’? -SH _

Almost instantly, he sees three dots appear on the screen. Sherlock jumps up from his chair, and circles around it, staring at his phone. 

Finally, an answer arrives. He stops in his tracks.

(Friday, 1.43 p.m.)

Shouldn’t you be at school?

He scoffs. Why does everyone care about that so much?

_ (Friday, 1.44 p.m.) _

_ No, Friday is my day off. -SH _

_ I noticed how you avoided my question. -SH _

(Friday, 1.46 p.m.)

Sorry, yeah. I’m a bit… distracted.

Sherlock frowns. Deductions flow through his brain, but for once he chooses to ignore them.

_ (Friday, 1.47 p.m.) _

_ Did I catch you at a bad time? -SH _

Sherlock gathers dirty dishes and glasses from around the room and carries them to the kitchen. He tries to distract himself from John’s texts, trying to appear casual.

But he can’t help it: he checks the messages.

Read. No response.

He shakes his head and lets the sink full of dishes fill with water.  _ It’s okay _ , he tries to convince himself,  _ he’s probably just busy. Absolutely not with a girlfriend. Nothing to worry about. _

He repeats this in his mind, almost being able to convince himself. But his body betrays him: he’s gripping one of the spoons in the sink so tight that it almost starts to bend. He drops it and pushes his hand against his chest, keeping it from moving again.

Suddenly, his phone buzzes, causing him to drop the plate that he was washing into the water. The water splashes over the kitchen counter, soaking everything in its nearby radius, including his shirt.

Sherlock gasps and quickly grabs a tea towel to soak up the water before it drips onto the floor. He turns around quickly, almost tripping over his feet, and grabs his phone.

(Friday, 1.58 p.m.)

A little bit. It’s fine. Something happened. 

I’ll tell you about it later.

Sherlock is confused for a moment about John’s change of tone, but his worry is soon washed over by intrigue.

_ (Friday, 1.59 p.m.) _

_ ‘Later’? -SH _

(Friday, 2.00 p.m.)

Well yes, you said you wanted to meet up now right?

A smile appears on Sherlock’s lips.

_ (Friday, 2.01 p.m.) _

_ Indeed I did. -SH _

(Friday, 2.01 p.m.) 

That’s good to hear, because I’m on my way to your flat right now. See you in a bit ;)

Sherlock’s heart swells and he can’t help but grin when he reads this. Then, realisation hits and he gasps. He looks around at his flat: dishes half-done in the sink, clothes thrown around in the living room, post-its covering the wall, and his shirt soaked wet. 

John can’t see all this. He has only a few minutes to clean up, depending on which route John is taking and how close he is already. He might just have time to clean up one of these issues.

He curses and runs to his bedroom to change.

//

Sure enough, as soon as Sherlock comes out of his bedroom with a clean, white t-shirt on, there is a knocking on the door. He hastily ruffles up his curls, hoping he doesn’t look all too messed up, and goes downstairs to open the door.

Sherlock barely has a chance to look at John before he rushes in past him. 

Puzzled, he turns around to face John, who is leaning with his back against the wall, gasping for air.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock takes a step towards John, ready to catch him in his arms if needed.

“Close.. the… door.”

Sherlock’s brain doesn’t register the words for a moment, but as soon as he does he slams the front door closed.

This time he allows himself to come closer to John. “Are you… are you okay?” Sherlock says carefully. The inclination to put a hand on John’s shoulder is overwhelming, but he holds himself back. That would be too much.

After taking a few deep breaths, John stands upright again. 

“Yes... I’m alright. Thank you,” he mumbles. He avoids eye contact. 

“What happened?”

“I was with someone.”

Sherlock’s heart sinks. Were his worries accurate after all? Was he with his girlfriend? 

He doesn’t say anything.

John continues: “She... she came up to me when I went outside, Sherlock. I was just about to run some errands, when I noticed her staring at me.”

Sherlock can’t utter a word. He nods almost imperceptibly, willing John to continue.

“I’m used to girls staring at me sometimes, but this was different. Her stare…” he finally looks up at Sherlock. There’s fear in his eyes. “It was as if she had done it before. As if she chose me as her-” John gulps and lowers his eyes again. “her victim.”

“Who was it, John?” Sherlock says in a low voice.

“I don’t know. But…”

“I’ve seen her before.”

Sherlock nods knowingly. “At Speedy’s.”

John nods back, while he closes his eyes and leans back against the wall.

“John.”

“Mm.”

“Did she hurt you?”

John’s eyes snap back open. “No,” he whispers. “But now she’s going to.” 

John doesn’t elaborate, and panic rises in Sherlock’s chest. He cannot let John get hurt. He wants to do anything, anything at all to keep him from getting hurt. He’s never felt this protective of a person before. He looks at John, who is now staring at the ceiling with his head against the wall. His eyes are glazed over with tears.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock’s voice is as tiny as a mouse.

“She made me promise not to tell you.” A tear falls from John’s eye. It lands on his shirt. He doesn’t notice.

“You talked to her?”

“Yes, when you texted me. I said I was distracted. She- she walked up to me. Threatened me.”

“What did she say?”

John rolls his head toward Sherlock to look him in the eyes. “She said I had to leave you alone. That I had to tell you I didn’t want to see you anymore. But I-” his voice breaks. “I couldn’t. Can’t.”

Sherlock feels a tear roll down his cheek now too. He lets it.

“Why not?”

John turns away. “I like you.”

“You’re the only friend that I have here. And I… really do like you. I can’t…”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

John looks back at him, doe-eyed. Those big blue eyes, now flooded with emotion.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay.”

John wipes away the tears and regains his usual military stature. “I’ll figure it out.”

Sherlock smiles. 

“ _ We’ll  _ figure it out.”

//

John sits in the middle of the couch, staring at his surroundings. As soon as they had come in, Sherlock had gone along the room to pick up miscellaneous pieces of clothing and other things scattered across the room. John had thought it was cute how worried Sherlock was that John saw his shirts and trousers.

Now, Sherlock is in the kitchen, preparing tea. Which gives John plenty of occasion to snoop around.

He gets up without making a sound, and goes to have a look at Sherlock’s bookshelves. They are completely filled with all sorts of books about chemistry, physics, biology, and various notebooks: all of them have at least two pieces of paper sticking out to mark the pages. There are a few detective magazines strewn around on top of the books, and a few case books and pictures stuffed in between. The only decoration on the shelves is a single figurine of an elephant. It looks solitary, surrounded by all those books; all that knowledge.  _ Almost like Sherlock himself _ , he thinks.

John picks up one of the books and opens it where a piece of paper is stuck. ‘The murderer has a green ladder’, it reads. John smiles, picturing Sherlock writing down his deductions on any nearby piece of paper and sticking it inside his books.

He puts the book back and walks around the room once more. The wallpaper catches his attention, as the granny-like pattern creates a stark contrast with the more boyish elements of the rest of the room. The wallpaper is also discoloured and burnt in places and John can’t help but wonder how those stains came to be.

He turns around and spots one of Sherlock’s shirts laying on the ground, half-hidden by the couch. His face flushes and he quickly crouches down to get the shirt. When he looks under the couch, he spots something else hiding under there. He reaches out and slides it towards him. It’s a book. He wipes away the dust.

“ _ Chemistry in central science - 2020”  _

“John?”

John jumps up from behind the couch, startled, clutching the book and the shirt against his chest. “I- uh- I wasn’t-” he stutters.

Sherlock looks shocked at first, but his expression shifts, a teasing glint in his eyes. 

“What’s that?” he asks.

John looks at the shirt in his hand with a horrified expression. He clears his throat. 

“I believe this is yours?” He holds out the shirt.

Sherlock gets closer and takes the shirt, but doesn’t retreat. 

“And the book?”

John puts the book in Sherlock’s hands.

His eyes light up when he sees what book it is. “My chemistry book! I thought I’d lost it!”

John’s awkwardness fades when he sees Sherlock’s face light up. “Oh, good! It was under the couch. The shirt as well. I noticed it on the ground, so… Well, I got them.”

Sherlock grins from ear to ear. He almost looks as though he wants to hug John, but he doesn’t do it. “Thank you,” he says instead.

John looks around one more time, taking in the details of the flat. Despite the mess and the stains, John still feels strangely at home here.

“So,” he asks. “What did you want to do today?”


	13. I can teach you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened previously:  
> Sherlock looked up his questions about hedgehog pregnancy, freaked out, and texted John. John immediately came over. Now he's wondering why Sherlock asked him to come over in the first place...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry! I haven't updated in about a month... I promise I haven't forgotten about this! I was just extremely busy. Sorry to have kept you waiting.  
> Enjoy this chapter! <3

Sherlock looks at John nervously as he slowly backs away. He hopes that John doesn’t notice how he’s subtly positioning himself in front of the kitchen doorway to block John’s view.

When he’s sure John cannot see the disaster that is his kitchen wall, he admits his real intentions:

“I asked you here because I had some questions about my hedgehog.”

...Well.  _ Part _ of his real intentions.

John tilts his head, and Sherlock almost detects a tinge of disappointment in his eyes. However, it is gone before he knows whether his eyes were fooling him. 

John smiles brightly. “I’d be happy to help!”

Sherlock turns on his heel into the hallway.

“Where are you going?”

He stops and looks over his shoulder at John. 

“To get John, of course,” he says, grinning.

//

When he returns with his hedgehog in his arms, John is no longer in the living room. Panic rises in Sherlock’s chest as his eyes dart across the room.

_ Oh no. He must have left because I was being weird. Of course he doesn’t want to answer questions about my hedgehog on his day off. Oh, how could I be so stupid- _

He suddenly hears whistling coming from the room opposite. 

His heart leaps.  _ Thank god. He’s in the kitchen.  _ His heart leaps again.  _ Oh no, the KITCHEN. _

Sherlock lays his pet on the couch and rushes towards the kitchen. He stops in his tracks when he sees John.

John is sitting on the kitchen counter, his hands under his legs, as he stares at the wall filled with post-its. 

For a moment, Sherlock forgets the trouble he’s in: the urge to get next to John and to put his arms around him floods all his senses. He takes a hesitant step forward, then comes to his senses. He can’t do that. They aren’t like that.

“Well, that’s a  _ lot _ of questions.” John turns his head towards Sherlock and gives him a half-smile. “You weren’t kidding when you said you needed my help.”

Sherlock’s eyes dart from the post-its on the wall to John. He then looks away awkwardly, thinking.  _ He doesn’t seem to mind. Calm down. _ He gathers his courage and goes to sit next to John on the counter. He takes a big breath, trying to control his feelings. 

He stares at the wall… and starts giggling. The giggling becomes louder, until he can’t seem to stop laughing.

John looks at him curiously. “What?” An amused smile is spreading on his face.

Sherlock covers his face with his hands, still laughing. John starts to giggle too, now.

They sit there, laughing, with a wall filled with post-its staring them down.

//

“Come, I’ll show you something.” John drops off the kitchen counter and holds out his hand to Sherlock, beckoning him to follow him. 

Sherlock jumps down and John drops his hand: he would never know whether he had wanted him to take it.

John walks over to the living room to sit on the couch. Sherlock sits down next to him.

“Where’s your hedgehog?” John whispers.

“Oh, right!” Sherlock jumps up and starts walking around the couch. “She must be here somewhere. I put her right where you’re sitting earlier…”

John jumps up from the couch in alarm. Sherlock snickers. “...but she’s not there now.”

He disappears under the couch. John frowns, but starts when Sherlock appears again with a hedgehog in hand.

“There she is!”

John shuffles back and forth on his spot, unsure what to do.

“Now, I know you’ve met her before, but at the time she was a bit listless -as we all were- so would you like to properly meet her this time?”

John nods and Sherlock puts her next to him on the couch: close enough for them to interact, but far enough for little John to feel safe.

The hedgehog patters closer to John, tilting her head. John carefully holds out a hand to her, having her get used to the smell. 

Then, the strangest thing happens. 

The hedgehog starts to lick John’s palm. John looks up at Sherlock in alarm. 

“What is she doing?” he whispers. 

Sherlock snickers. “Watch.” His eyes are focused on his pet.

John concentrates on the hedgehog again, trying not to flinch when her little tongue touches his skin. Then, as Sherlock predicted, she starts doing something else. She starts licking her own spines. She repeats this a few times- licking John’s hand, before licking her spines- until she plops down on her belly, apparently satisfied with her results.

“What just happened?” John stares at the creature in awe.

Sherlock sits down next to John, trying to hide his delight. “She just did a thing called ‘anointing’. It’s what hedgehogs do when they come across new smells.” He looks up at him with intention in his eye. “Especially with smells that they like.”

John blinks, slightly taken aback by Sherlock’s comment. Then he puts out his hand towards the hedgehog, and gently pets her spines. He looks back up at Sherlock, a sparkle in his eye. “I’m honoured.”

“So, what did you want to show me?” Sherlock asks.

“Oh, right! Um, I can show you the position of the babies again if you’d like?”

Sherlock nods and John carefully turns the hedgehog onto her back. 

Sherlock gently puts his index finger on the belly, feeling around for any hoglets.

“Wow, you’ve become quite skilled at this! You don’t need my help after all.”

“Oh, believe me, I do. Here, feel this. Is it possible that I feel a kick?”

John puts his finger right next to Sherlock’s.

“You’re right, that does feel like a little kick! I didn’t know that was possible.”

The happiness and relief now radiating from his face, Sherlock sits down closer to both Johns. He stares at them adoringly, watching as little John climbs into John’s lap. John holds up his hands, unsure what to do with them.

“Here.” Sherlock picks up his pet and holds her in front of John, showing him how it is done. Then, he takes one of his hands off the hedgehog, and uses it to take John’s hand. He takes it up to the hedgehog’s belly, concentrating as he puts John’s hand in the right position. When he looks up, he finds John staring at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You can…” He looks away and lets John fully take his pet from his hands.

John tears his eyes from the boy in front of him and focuses on the small animal in his hands. He remembers how Sherlock had showed him to hold her, and shifts the position. He carefully cradles the hedgehog on one hand, while placing the other hand on her back for security. 

While she was rolled into a ball when she was first handed to John, the hedgehog now carefully unrolls, poking out her head curiously to take a look at the boy who’s holding her. She chirps in glee and nudges against his hand.

Sherlock scoots closer to John, and starts gently petting the hedgehog’s spines, letting her know she’s safe. 

John stares at the whole affair and his whole being fills with joy and warmth. 

He feels at home here.

//

“You will want to create a safe environment for the hedgehog to give birth in, one that’s warm and secluded,” John explains, leaning on the backrest of the couch.

“What do I put on the surface as a nest?” Sherlock says, picking one of the post-its from the pile.

“A warm blanket will do if you’re in a hurry, but preferably you’d put some sort of natural bedding in a box. I’m sure the pet store has some hedgehog bedding in a box-”

Sherlock suddenly jumps up from the couch, and starts walking towards the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

When he returns shortly afterwards, he’s carrying a box of hedgehog bedding in his hand.

“Here it is! I have it!” he says gleefully.

John snickers as Sherlock sits back down. “Good. That’ll save you a trip to the pet shop.”

Sherlock puts the box next to him on the ground. He sits quite close to John, and yet his heart doesn’t burst out of his chest as before, nor does his hands get clammy, or his neck turn red. He sits next to John calmly as he grabs another post-it from the pile.

“Can… hedgehogs be around chemical experiments?” 

John freezes. His eyes dart from Sherlock to the hedgehog in his lap. 

Then, he snorts. He starts giggling at Sherlock’s question. Sherlock’s heart swells and soon he finds himself giggling along.

“I suppose…” John tries to stifle his giggles, “I suppose you should be careful with those. I wouldn’t-” he can’t contain it anymore: he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back against the couch’s backrest. Sherlock giggles along, burying his face in his hands. 

They catch their breaths, as Sherlock picks up to the next post-it on the pile. 

His smile fades. 

He clears his throat and reads with a tiny voice: “How do I ensure no one dies before, after, and during the birth?”

John is heartbroken by Sherlock’s sudden crestfallen expression. “Hey.” He puts a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “We will make sure no one dies, okay?” He gives him a little smile.

When Sherlock realises how crestfallen he must have looked, he quickly puts on a braver face. “I know,” he says, hoping to sound more confident than he feels. He subtly shakes John’s hand off his arm and picks up the next post-it.

“On to the next one, then.”

//

Sherlock is lying on the ground, surrounded by strewn around post-its. John is lying on the couch next to him, staring at the ceiling. The silence is comfortable, yet it feels made to be broken.

“So what happened at school?” John asks, still staring at the ceiling.

“I wasn’t at school today, remember, I have the day-” John gives him a knowing look, and he falls silent. “Oh. That.”

“Why did you get sent out that day? You never really told me.” John stares at the ceiling again, trying to make his question appear casual, but Sherlock can sense the genuine curiosity in his tone.

“I told you, the professor is a prick.”

“Hmm.”

Sherlock sighs. “Okay, you have questions.”

“Yes. Did he send you out because you were late? ...because of me?”

“No, not just because of that.”

“What happened?”

Sherlock lets out a long breath, as he analyses John’s words. He didn’t say ‘What did you do?’, as his family would have in this situation. He asked what  _ happened _ . He was… kind. 

He smiles slightly, before starting to explain what happened.

//

“Wait, he actually told you to read from your book, even though he knew you didn’t have it?”

“Yes! Do you believe me now when I say how mean he is?”

“Definitely.” After thinking for a moment, John sits up, suddenly energised by the idea that materialised in his mind. “I have an idea on how to get back at him. But it’ll take effort.”

Sherlock sits up too now, curiosity abuzz. “What’s your idea?”

“Next time he asks you to read it out loud when you don’t have the book… You actually  _ do it _ .”

“...what?”

“You actually read it out loud, from your memory!”

Sherlock scoffs disappointedly. “I can’t. My memory is absolutely terrible. I mean, you’ve seen the post-its; I can’t remember anything without writing it down. It’s hopeless.”

And yet John doesn’t seem discouraged by this. In fact, this only heightens his spirits: he swings his legs off the couch and sits down on the ground next to Sherlock.

“I have a method.”

Sherlock stares at how close John is sitting, as he feels John’s warmth radiating onto him. He looks at John’s hand and imagines the feeling of it in his own. 

He shakes off the thought, though subconsciously placing his hand a bit closer to John’s.

“Wait… what?”

John’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “I have a method for you to remember things. Things like… an entire chemistry book, in case your annoying professor asks you to read it out loud?” He grins at Sherlock.

Sherlock’s mind fills with possibilities, but he refuses to get his hopes up just yet.

“What is the method?”

//

“It’s called the ‘memory palace’ technique. It helps you remember things vividly, using images in your brain. It’s an imaginary location in your mind where you can store mnemonic images.” John holds up his phone for Sherlock to see a wiki page about memory palaces.

“I doubt this actually works.”

“I used this to study for my all my veterinary exams,” John argued with a confident grin on his face. 

“Really? You know how to do this?”

“A little, yes. I can teach you if you want.”

Before Sherlock can do as little as nod, he’s already pulled up on his feet and being dragged to the hallway.

“What are you-”

“We can do it now.”

Sherlock can hear his own heart beating in his chest. 

“Do what?”

“Wow, your memory really is atrocious, isn’t it? We can create your  _ memory palace _ now!”

“Oh.” He picks up his spirits, suddenly actually excited about the premise. Even only because it’ll mean John gets to stay a little longer.

“Okay, let’s do it!”

John grins from ear to ear and turns Sherlock around, so that he’s facing the front door of the apartment. “All right. The first step to creating your memory palace, is to choose a location which you know well. For instance, your apartment.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you for choosing for me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And then?” Sherlock carefully turns his head to look at John, who is standing just behind him. He tries not to let his shallow breathing be noticed.

“Then, you plan out the whole route through the apartment. You can do this clockwise, or randomly; just make sure you remember every detail.”

Sherlock starts walking through the apartment, taking in all the details, observing as he usually does. John is right behind him, but stops following him when he moves to the bedroom.

After he’s finished his round, he meets with John again.

“Done that. And now?”

“Now take a list that you want to memorise- like some of these post-its - and picture them in a specific location in the apartment. This way, when you walk through your apartment in your mind, you’ll see the things appear which you’ve placed there.”

Sherlock picks up the post-its and follows the instructions, while John sits at the kitchen counter, watching him succeed.

Sherlock’s eyes snap back open. “It actually works,” he whispers. 

“Yes, it does. Now to practice those lists, until you’re good enough at it to memorise an entire chemistry book, which…” John pauses as he looks Sherlock up and down. “... you’ll manage just fine.”

Sherlock smiles the brightest smile he has allowed himself to smile in a long time. “Thank you,” he says. The earnestness in his voice makes John’s heart swell.

“Any time. Oh and, do let me know what happens when you get back at him like this.”

Sherlock grins. “I’ll be sure to describe his expression in full detail.”

John chuckles and gazes at the ground. He looks Sherlock in the eyes. The flat is silent. They just look into each other’s eyes, each reaching an understanding of the other.

John tears his gaze away and picks up his coat from the counter, while a flush of red rests on his cheeks.

“I should go.” He doesn’t move.

“I suppose so.” Sherlock doesn’t move either.

“I…” he trails off, shakes his head. “I had a really great time today,” he decides.

Sherlock smiles fondly. “I did too.”

John lingers, wanting to act out unspoken feelings, wanting to do  _ anything _ but leave. But he moves towards the exit nevertheless. Sherlock shows him to the door. John looks back one last time, before shaking his head and leaving the flat.

Without another word, he’s left alone again.

After staring at the closed door for what must have been ages, with a smile still ghostly on his lips, Sherlock goes over to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

While he waits for the water to boil, he notices a lone post-it still sticking on the wall.

_ ‘Will John be able to answer my questions?’ _ it reads. Sherlock plucks it from the wall and inspects it closer. He clutches it against his heart and chuckles.

Under the question has been written:

_ 'Yes, he will.' _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Seeing as I may have more time to spare these coming weeks, I will try to update weekly again! But you know how I am... Lol.  
> Let me know if you're still enjoying this story! Hugs <3 <3


	14. I need you to come here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last chapter:  
> John came to visit Sherlock in his flat. He properly met little Johnhog, and he taught Sherlock about the mind palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I missed another week of updating.
> 
> ...I have nothing to say for myself.

“Stop right there.”

John quickly puts away his phone and whisks around, facing the girl who he was trying to avoid. His mouth runs dry and his feet seem glued to the ground.

“I know what you’re doing. And I need you to stop it.”

John shakes his head slowly. “I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The girl walks over to him, only stopping when she is less than meter away from him. 

“I think you do. I’m not as stupid as I seem. I know you’ve noticed me before. Last time you looked me directly in the eye, when you were having milkshakes with Sherlock. He was upset because he got sent out, so he skipped school to be with you.”

John is avoiding eye contact now. “Who the  _ hell _ are you?”

The girl smiles, and steps a little closer. 

“I’m someone who could force your life to take a turn. Who could ruin you life, if you do not do as I say.”

John risks a glance at her. She looks back at him calmly; almost sweetly. It sends shivers down his back. “You’re not frightening me,” he mumbles.

“You cannot keep seeing Sherlock Holmes.”

“I think it will be quite suspicious if I suddenly disappear.”

“You’re not going to do that. You are going to tell him you don’t want to see him anymore.” She smiles. “Break his heart, Watson.”

John takes a step back and takes a few deep breaths. “Why are you doing this?”

“You got in the way. That’s all you need to know. And now… Now you’ll never get in the way again.” She steps back slightly. “Text him and then never see him again. And promise you won’t tell him about this. Do all this, and I will leave you alone.”

John closes his eyes, not wanting the girl to see the emotion in his eyes. He lowers his head.

“I- I promise”

When he opens his eyes again, he is alone. He rubs his eyes and steadies his breathing, before getting out his phone.

One missed message. After typing a response, he looks around for a moment, before making a decision. 

He starts walking towards Baker Street.

//

John stares at the ceiling as he thinks back. It has been two weeks since that incident and he hasn’t seen the girl since. This idea fills him with relief and dread at the same time. 

He doesn’t know if contacting Sherlock would make matters worse for him now, or if he has done the damage already.

He turns his head to look at a picture frame on his nightstand. His sister’s smile glares at him from behind the glass. He wonders how quickly that smile would fade if she found out…

He sighs and looks at his phone instead. His finger hovers over Sherlock’s name in his contacts, but he lets the phone drop out of his hand.

_ It’s finals week. Last thing he needs right now is me annoying him. _

He slowly gets up from his bed and shuffles over to the kitchen. The clock ticks loudly, making him feel he is on a countdown to downfall. The hands of the clock stare at him threateningly, as if wanting to punch him.

“It’s 5 o’clock. Perfect,” he mumbles to himself.

He cranks open a bottle and pours himself a drink.

//

“...Furthermore, the change in momentum in each collision increases (the molecules strike the walls more forcefully). Hence the model explains the observed pressure increase.”

Sherlock’s eyes snap open, his expression proud and relieved.

“I did it! I memorised the entire chapter, word for word!” He turns around and jumps up, doing a little dance which would kill him in embarrassment, were he not alone. 

“I have to let John know!” He’s about to text John, when he remembers.

_ Right. He hasn’t messaged me in days. _

He lowers his phone and crouches down to his pet, who is lying in her little hedgehog bed. 

“Are you proud of me, little one? I memorised the whole chapter of this book!”

John doesn’t respond. 

“Are you going to ignore me too?”

The hedgehog grunts and turns her back towards him.

Sherlock sighs. “Fine. I’ll celebrate on my own, by trying it out tomorrow.” His mind flies up to the possible situation. How annoyed his teacher would be with him. The  _ face _ he would make…

It will be worth all the trouble just to see that expression of disbelief.

Smiling broadly, he checks his watch. 10 o’clock.  _ Might as well go to bed early _ , he thinks.

As he gets ready for bed, he suddenly hears his phone buzz. 

Frowning, he turns it on. One message.

(Wednesday, 10.09 p.m.)

Hello there.

Relief, together with confusion, floods over him.

_ (Wednesday, 10.10 p.m.) _

_ John? -SH _

(Wednesday, 10.10 p.m.)

Yes, me. I havea little qwestion for you

_ (Wednesday, 10.11 p.m.) _

_ Are you drunk, or is your spelling just appalling? -SH _

(Wednesday, 10.12 p.m.)

I see you iggnoring my question!

_ (Wednesday, 10.12 p.m.) _

_ You haven’t asked me anything. -SH _

_ Also, aren’t you the one who has been ignoring me? -SH _

Sherlock shakes his head. He doesn’t care enough anymore to pretend everything is fine. John hasn’t reached out to him for days. And those messages from last week weren’t exactly very social either. He just wants to know why John is ignoring him.

Finally, he gets his answer.

(Wednesday, 10.13 p.m.)

Its your finals week. I couldnt bother you.

_ Well, that explains a lot _ , Sherlock thinks. 

_ (Wednesday, 10.14 p.m.) _

_ My finals aren’t until next week. -SH _

(Wednesday, 10.15 p.m.)

oh.

He sits down on his bed and tucks his legs under him.

_ (Wednesday, 10.16 p.m.) _

_ You wanted to ask me a question? -SH _

(Wednesday, 10.16 p.m.)

Right yes

Sherlock drops onto his back, making himself comfortable while he waits.

(Wednesday, 10.17 p.m.) 

I was wondering. why do you always signoff your texts wth ‘-SH’?

Sherlock nearly falls off the bed. As he scrambles back in position, he thinks about his answer to this question. He could just lie and say that he was taught to do it, or…

_ (Wednesday, 10.19 p.m.) _

_ Because I just assume no one actually saves my number. -SH _

He lets out a long breath. He has never told anyone that. He just figures if he were to tell anyone, it would be John.

Especially because he’s drunk and probably won’t remember this.

(Wednesday, 10.22 p.m.)

I have your number saved.

Sherlock can’t help but smile. He turns on his side and holds the phone close to his face as he starts typing.

_ (Wednesday, 10.23 p.m.) _

_ Oh. Thank you. I have you saved in my phone as well. -SH _

(Wednesday, 10.23 p.m.)

You can stop signing your texts now :)

_ (Wednesday, 10.23 p.m.) _

_ I suppose I could. _

(Wednesday, 10.24 p.m.)

There you go

_ (Wednesday, 10.25 p.m.) _

_ How are you doing? Haven’t heard from you in a while… _

Sherlock waits, but John doesn’t respond.

_ (Wednesday, 10.31 p.m.) _

_ I believe you fell asleep. _

_ Goodnight. _

He chuckles and turns off the light. As he drifts off to sleep, he cannot help but think of John being there with him.

//

“Looking quite good, if I do say so myself.” 

Sherlock gazes in the mirror, looking at himself from all angles to make sure his outfit is acceptable. His eyes wander to the reflection of the chair behind him.

“Don’t you agree?”

John is sat on the chair behind him, lying on her side to display her large belly. She doesn’t respond: she merely lifts her head, sniffs a little, and drops her head again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sherlock scoops up his hedgehog and takes her with him to the living room. 

The living room still fills him with warmth whenever he enters, because it makes him think of the time John was there. He would like for him to visit again.

But there are other things to think about right now. He flicks through his chemistry book one more time while having breakfast. His thoughts are already buzzing through his head and being orderly put in place in his mind palace. 

Taking one last look at his hedgehog, who is sleeping comfortably in her cage, he gets up to leave. 

He stops in his tracks when his phone buzzes.

(Thursday, 7.58 a.m.)

Hey Sherlock.

Sherlock takes a regrettable look in the direction of his chemistry book. He shakes the thought away and directs his attention back to his phone.

_ (Thursday, 7.59 a.m.) _

_ John? _

(Thursday, 7.59 a.m.)

Sherlock. I need you to come here.

Sherlock’s heart skips a beat. He re-reads the message. Again. And again.

_ (Thursday, 8.00 a.m.) _

_ Why? Are you all right? _

The silence that follows is more than Sherlock can take. He paces across the room, weighing his options.

Finally, a message pops up.

(Thursday, 8.01 a.m.)

She’s here.

Sherlock doesn’t waste a moment: he flings on his coat and rushes out the door.

  
The chemistry book lies lonesome in the middle of the table.

//

“Sherlock- I can see her standing in front of the door. I don’t know what to do,” John whispers while peeking through the window.

“Just hold on. I’ll be right there, all right?” 

John covers his mouth and takes a deep breath, temporarily resting the phone against his chest. He holds it back against his ear. “Sherlock, you can’t come here.” 

“What do you mean? Of course I can! I can handle a jealous girl, John.” 

“No, I mean. You don’t have my address!” 

Sherlock stops in his tracks and whisks around. His coat swirls around him as he takes in his surroundings.  _ Where am I going? _

“You’re right. That… should have crossed my mind.” 

“Yes, you idiot. I’ll text you the address.” 

“All right.” 

“Oh, and Sherlock?” John asks carefully.

“Yes?” 

“Please be here soon.” 

With that, John hangs up the phone, giving Sherlock the chance to change his directions.

//

The knocking continues. The sound seems like a blow to John’s mind, hurting him every time it occured. At the end of it, his mind feels bruised.

“I know you’re there! I can literally see you! Open.” She knocks, “The.” She knocks again, “Door!” She rams against the door, then leans against it defeatedly.

Then, it opens.

“What do you want?” John tries to make his voice sound more grumpy than usual.

“Tea?” The girl doesn’t wait for an answer, instead walks right into the flat.

“Sure,” John mumbles as he closes the door behind her.

//

“Cute place you have here. You have children?” the girl asks as she points to the toys scattered around.

“No, I don’t. I’m still a kid myself, to be honest.”

“Oh, so those are  _ your _ …”

“No. It’s not- no.” He clears his throat. “I’m living with a coworker right now. Until I’ve settled in a place of my own.”

The girl mumbles a “Hmm” and continues inspecting the house. John nervously checks the clock.  _ Where are you, Sherlock… _

//

The wind whistling next to his ears, Sherlock runs towards the flat on the horizon. Every breath he takes burns his throat, but he ignores it. He has to get to John. He doesn’t know what this girl is capable of, and he doesn't plan to find out. 

His coat flaps in front of him as he comes to a screeching halt. John texted him he’d leave the door unlocked so he can get inside without being noticed.

_ He’s right. It’s unlocked. _

He sneaks in, trying not to step on anything which will give him away. Not bothering to wait any longer than necessary, he swings open the door to what he can only imagine to be the living room.

John and the girl whisk around their heads at the figure in the door. Though sweaty and roughed up by the wind, the entrance definitely makes him look heroic. The girl gasps.

“Hello there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, exciting! Sorry for the slight cliffhanger. Although... I'm really not.  
> Next week (probably in two weeks, knowing myself), we'll finally find out who the mysterious girl is. ;) (Let's see if you can guess it already...)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3 <3


	15. It's all fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last time:  
> Sherlock was going to try out the mind palace technique on his teacher, but got called over by John, because *she* was there.  
> Now he has arrived at John's house, about to confront the mystery stalker girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah! I did it! I posted a chapter within a week!  
> Enjoy :)

“Hello there.” Sherlock takes an awkward step forward, while his eyes dart between John and the girl. He looks at the girl more carefully, while the deductions whiz through his brain. Her shirt is covered with cat hair.  _ Cat lover.  _ Little splashes of blood on her shirt, but no below the abdomen, and dried blood between her nails. _ Training in mortuary science. _ He inspects the rest of her body.  _ Carries keys in her front pocket in case anyone attacks. No other visible weapons. Perhaps in her purse.  _ He stares into her eyes, trying to catch the glint of nerves which go along with a planned attack.

The girl tries to stifle a squeal. John looks over at the shriveling mess of a girl next to him, who had seemed so confident and threatening just moments before.

John clears his throat. “Hello, Sherlock. I’m glad you could make it.” He sees Sherlock frown at the sudden formality in his tone, and hopes Sherlock picks up on the game.

“Right. Of course, J- um. Watson. My pleasure. I believe I was promised tea?” Sherlock gestures for John to move to the kitchen. He takes John’s vacated space on the couch. The girl is gaping at him.

“Hello, I’m Sherlock Holmes. And you are?”

The girl merely blinks. After a dreadful silence, she finally seems to realise she was asked a question. “I’m Molly,” she whispers.

“Good to meet you, Molly. Although,” Sherlock takes in her appearance. “I believe we have met before?”

Just as the girl opens her mouth to respond, John comes in with a tray of tea and biscuits.

“Ah, thank you John.” He glances at the girl again while he takes a cup. “Feel free to replenish as well, Molly.”

Molly seems to crumble at the sound of her name. John gives him a look.  _ Molly? _

“So, tell me: how have you come to know John?” 

The girl nearly chokes on her tea. “I haven’t- I’m not-” she splutters. 

“It’s all right. I know you’ve met before. He told me. And you’re here now; will you tell us why?”

Molly’s eyes dart between John and Sherlock. She tries to pick up exactly what kind of relationship they share, but fails to name what it is. She takes a deep breath as she puts away her tea. The burning heat in her palm only makes her that much more nervous.

“All right. I’ll tell you everything. If, in return, you’ll tell me about your relationship. I must know if I…” she doesn’t finish the thought. John starts to bounce his leg up and down, up and down. Sherlock only leans in closer. All of it makes her heart beat in her throat.

“We’ll tell you.”

That is all the encouragement she needs.

“It all started when I went to the vet with my cat. I was having an awful day, but then in came the most perfect boy I had ever seen. The world around me seemed to stop. This teen, with his unruly, yet fluffy curls, his bright teal eyes, his…” She starts to blush and averts her eyes. “Well, you know. I found myself hoping to see you every time I went to the vet. And at first that was enough, but… Soon I wanted to see you more.” Her eyes flicker towards Sherlock. He doesn’t flinch. “So I followed you out one day. I saw where you lived, where you go to school… When I knew all this, I gathered my courage to finally ask you out. So I went to the vet. And waited until you arrived.” She stares at John. He gulps. “Then came you.” 

“The vet,” Sherlock mumbles. “Of course. That’s what I know you from, isn’t it? I caught you staring at me once in the waiting room!” 

Molly nods guiltily. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of the best ways to ask you- Nevermind. Then John came along, and I watched your usual stoic appearance melt away before my eyes. I wanted you to look at me like that. I was hoping I just imagined it, so… I followed you. I followed you, to see if you were in contact with him outside of the veterinary office. And sure enough: I caught you two on a date in front of your apartment.” 

John tries to protest, but Sherlock subtly swats his knee to shut him up. 

“And that’s when you were discovered, wasn’t it? So you had to shut John up, so he wouldn’t tell me?”

Molly buries her face in her hands. “It wasn’t like that!” she insists. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bear think of you being with someone else. So when I noticed John in the street…” She casts a regretful gaze towards John. “...I confronted him.”

Sherlock sighs and runs a hand through his hair. John stops tapping his leg. They give each other a quick reassuring look.

“I now realise that wasn’t the best thing to do, because I can see that nothing can keep you two apart.” She notices how the boys are caught off-guard, but continues: “Despite threatening John, he came to you immediately afterwards, without hesitation. Even now, I turned up unexpectedly, and yet here you are. You arrived mere minutes after I did, despite having classes today. And god knows this is not the first time you skipped school for this boy.” Her eyes dart between the teens, who seem to be taken aback by sudden realisation. 

“And who am I to get in the way of that?”

Sherlock and John look absolutely dumbfounded. A bead of sweat trickles down John’s forehead, as he glances at Sherlock.

They look at each other in confusion.  _ What do we do now? _

Then, Sherlock’s expression suddenly seems to shift. His confusion melts away like snow in the sun, and makes place for a soft, loving gaze. 

It sends shivers down John’s spine.

“You’re right,” Sherlock whispers.

“What?”

“You’re right,” he repeats, more confidently now. “We have been together for a while now. Nothing can get in between us.” He takes John’s hand in his.

John is staring wide-eyed at their intertwined hands. He gives Sherlock a look.  _ What are you doing? _

Sherlock raises his eyebrows and gives him a little smirk.  _ Change of plans. _

When he notices Molly staring at him, John quickly changes his posture. He gives Sherlock’s hand a little squeeze. “That’s right. Your threat might have scared me, but it doesn’t stop me from being with Sherlock.” He notices Sherlock’s neck turn a bright red from the corner of his eye.

Molly narrows her eyes, then drags her hand down her face, letting out a sigh. “Of course you are. I should have seen it sooner. I guess I just thought I’d still… I’d still have a chance.”

Sherlock pats her hand gently. “If it helps: I think I really could have liked you if it weren’t for the circumstances.”

Molly looks up, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Really?” she whispers.

John frowns. Sherlock’s eyes catch his, and he doesn’t tear his eyes away until he says:

“I’m gay.”

John chokes on air, his eyes going wide as he tries to detect the true meaning behind those blue eyes. Sherlock smiles and turns away his head shyly. 

“I can see that,” Molly says. John almost forgot she was in the room. His eyes are still transfixed on Sherlock. He can’t stop a smile from forming on his lips.

At that moment, Sherlock lets go of John’s hand. John instantly misses the pleasant warmth on his palm.

“Molly,” Sherlock says, “will you leave us alone now?”

Molly tilts her head up to the sky, blinking profusely while she takes a few shaky breaths. She lowers her head again and says, “Yes.”

John lingers. “Er, are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I just want Sherlock to be happy. And I have never seen him happier than when he’s with you.” Blush creeps up John’s skin. She continues, “So yes. I’m sure.”

Sherlock straightens his back: his formal posture and harsh expressions have returned, making him look like a businessman making a proposition.

“I assume you won’t do it for nothing?” he says.

Molly stays suspiciously quiet.

“I know what’s bothering you. Your life is horrid right now, with all the studying and stalking and handling of corpses. You constantly feel as if your life is under threat. The only thing that has kept you from doing actual harm is the idea that maybe, just _maybe_ you could have a life with me. Now that you have to go from a life in which you see me daily, to a life in which you have no hopes left; it will crush you. You’ve always been a hopeless romantic, but the thing you _really_ need, is not what you think it is. Those fantasies are not what keep you alive. _No_ , it’s the interaction with the people around you. You feel as if you are on the outside, looking in. Always looking at people, but never interacting. That’s why you didn’t know what to do when you actually _talked_ _to me_ for the first time. But Molly, there’s no need to attack people to satisfy those needs. There is no need to hurt yourself, because I’m giving you an in. A chance to be on the _inside_. No need to stay outside looking in. You just have to say the word.”

She stays quiet. John can see the thoughts whirl around behind her eyes, pushing the tears over the edge, making them roll down her cheeks. She sits there, quietly sobbing, for a while.

Finally, she says the word.

“Please let me in.”

Sherlock smiles sympathetically and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ve got friends who cannot wait to meet you.”

//

“Wow, that was quite intense, wasn’t it?” John picks up another crisp from the bowl and puts it in his mouth. He stares at the blue-eyed boy who is sitting next to him on the couch.

“It  _ was _ ,” Sherlock chuckles. “Definitely not something you experience every day.”

John hums in agreement and puts his head on the headrest, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey, would you like to see my room?” he suddenly asks.

“Oh, uh.” Sherlock thinks about the lesson he is supposed to be following at school. He shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

John leads Sherlock to the hallway, holding up his bowl of crisps, trying not to spill it over the labyrinth of toys. He stops in front of a slick white door, to which a small pirate flag is attached, with the words ‘Beware of the captain’ underneath.

“Oh, you like pirates?” Sherlock asks, trying to hide his excitement.

“Pff, no. I share a room with one of Mike’s kids. He loves pirates.” John opens the door and steps inside.

“Oh,” Sherlock mumbles.

John does a little twirl inside the room, his arms spread wide. “Welcome!”

Sherlock’s eyes dart across the room: the room is evidently divided in half; one side is neat and tidy, save for some papers and bits and bobs strewn about, whereas the other side is clearly pirate-themed, with pirate-flags, bed covers and toys. 

His attention shifts back to John’s side of the room. The room is small, so there is just barely space for his own bed, which is pushed against the wall. His bed covers have blue and white stripes; his small desk is filled with papers and pictures of animals; Sherlock can even see a picture of John in the army hidden behind a stack of papers. He tries not to pay too much attention to it.

“It’s nice,” he concludes.

“Thank you. I know it’s small, but I’m okay with it. It’s just temporary anyways. As soon as I find a proper, affordable place to live, I’m out of here.”

Sherlock takes a few crisps from the bowl and goes to sit on the boy’s pirate bed, while John situates himself on his own bed opposite him.

“I’m glad you came here,” John says after a comfortable silence. “I’m not sure what I would have done on my own.”

Sherlock feels the heat creeping up his neck once again. “You didn’t think I went… too far?”

John smiles and looks down. “I think…  _ it’s all fine _ .”

Sherlock tries to hide his pleased look. He looks around the room again, taking in the fact that this is where John has been spending his time. Every breath he takes in here reminds him of  _ John _ . He wishes he could have those smells around him all the time. 

Almost simultaneously, an idea pops into his head.

“Move in with me,” he blurts out.

John snaps his head up, his eyes wide. “Sorry?”

“You should move in with me! I have an extra room upstairs; the rent is cheap because my brother takes care of it; he wants me to pay for it myself, but I would only be able to do that if I could split the fees with a flatmate. Together we ought to be able to afford it. It’s in central London, so it’s close to where you work; the rooms are large, so you’ve got enough privacy… What do you think?”

He still looks shocked by the sudden proposition, but Sherlock can tell he is really thinking about it.

“It’s a bit… sudden. I’ll need some time to think about it,” he says eventually.

“Of course! You don’t have to give me an answer now. I only just thought of it myself. Sorry.”

John begins to grin. “How about we think on it while watching a film?”

Sherlock beams. “Great idea.”

John gestures for Sherlock to sit next to him on his bed. While John picks a film to watch on his laptop, Sherlock makes himself comfortable on John’s bed. John returns with a DVD  **－** James Bond  **－** and sits down next to Sherlock. He places the laptop in between the two of them and turns it on. 

Sherlock moves a little closer to John and tries to focus on the film. His heart is beating loudly, making it difficult for him to hear the film, but he doesn’t mind.

As he sits close to John, the pale light of the computer illuminating the space around them, Sherlock doesn’t even think about his mind palace and the chemistry chapter stored inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! Or if you did not like it. Or if you merely want to point out a spelling mistake.   
> All comments are welcome! (But keep it civil)  
> Thank you so much for reading. <3


	16. Are you ready?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last time:  
> Sherlock and John met the mystery girl, who turned out to be Molly. Sherlock promised to help Molly.  
> When Sherlock was hanging out with John afterwards, he asked John to move in with him. John promised to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! After only a week! AND it's twice as long as usual! *Sherlock's TGG voice* I am on fire!  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I certainly enjoyed writing it. I love to burn that slow burn into your souls.
> 
> Have fun! <3

“Have you seen my phone?” 

John is standing in the middle of a labyrinth of boxes, looking around in a futile attempt to find what he’s looking for. A little pirate races past him, into his bedroom.

“It’s in the kitchen!” Mike calls from the other room.

John sighs and makes his way over to the kitchen: making sure not to break his ankles over boxes and miscellaneous objects which couldn’t be packed. He is greeted by Mike and his wife when he enters the living room.

“Are you all packed?”

John glances at the mess in the hallway. “I think so,” he says. “I just need to check on my phone. I’ve got a list, just in case.”

Mike lets out a hearty laugh. “John Watson checking off a list. I never thought I’d see the day.”

John smiles as he checks the list. ... _ Laptop, check. Pictures, check. Toiletries, check… check, check, check... _

“All done,” he says with a relieved expression.

“In that case,” Mike’s wife, Carol, says, “I think it’s time to say goodbye.” She calls over the children and pulls John into a tight hug. “Don’t get yourself into  _ too _ much trouble,” she whispers.

He says good-bye to the children in turn, before carrying the boxes to the car with Mike’s help.

Once the boxes are fitted nicely into the car, John takes one last look at the house he had called ‘home’ for a long time, before getting inside next to Mike. 

They make their way to Baker Street, and John does not look back.

//

(Friday, 10.35 p.m)

I will move in with you.

Sherlock cannot avert his eyes from the text. It’s been days since John sent that text to him, and they have talked about it profusely since then, and yet Sherlock still finds himself staring. How can 6 words on a screen completely turn his life around? 

To know this, you merely have to look at what took place last thursday. After saving John from a stalker girl, Sherlock offered for John to move in with him. The adrenaline of the day was still pumping through his veins, so he hadn’t taken the decision much thought. 

On the other hand, he  _ had _ . It was something that had been on his mind for a while. Seeing John every day, being close to John; it almost seemed too good to be true. 

Which is why that one text came as unexpectedly as snowdrops sprouting in June.

Sherlock fidgets with his hands and puts the phone away to stop himself from staring. 

“Are you excited for John to get here?” he asks his hedgehog, crouching in front of her cage. 

She is comfortably lying on a soft little bed, in the pleasant warmth of the heat lamp. When she acknowledges her caretaker, she starts gently purring and sniffing in his direction. She doesn’t answer his question.

“All right then. Let me take care of you before he arrives, okay?” Sherlock picks up his pregnant pet — bed and all — and gently places her on the couch. Keeping an eye on her from the corner of his eye, he starts cleaning out the cage. He takes out the exercise wheel, heat pads, food bowls, and litter box and puts the cage lining in a bag. 

While he cleans everything, ridding them of dirt, droppings, and urine, he cannot help but let his mind wander. He thinks about what it will be like to have John live with him; he thinks about what John will think of him once he sees him every day; he thinks of Molly, and how he promised to let her into his small friend group; he thinks about his brother, who is going on dates with his friend. Before he knows it, he has cleaned the entire cage: leaving behind a clean, cozy, warm area for his pregnant hedgehog to rest in.

He turns around, ready to place her back inside, when he notices a turd laying on the couch.

“You couldn’t have kept that in for 5 more minutes?” She stares at him with big, guilty eyes. He sighs. “It’s all right. I’ll clean that up, too.” He quickly checks her paws. “At least you didn’t get any on there,” he says. Sherlock quickly gets up to the kitchen to retrieve wipes and treats.

He gives her a dried bug as a treat, before placing her and her bed back inside the cage, and getting to cleaning.

//

The car comes to a screeching halt in front of a charming three-story house near the end of Baker Street. John stares out the window, examining his new home, like a child taking in the surreal presence of a castle.

“Are you ready to move into your first private home?” Mike says excitedly.

“Yes, I am.” John steps out of the car and opens the front door of the flat with his keys — his  _ own _ keys. He takes a box from the car and carries it upstairs.

//

Sherlock snaps out of his mind palace when he hears the sound of keys rattling in the front door.  _ That must be John. _

He leaps up and rushes downstairs. He almost bumps into John halfway down the stairs; he is carrying a large box, which extends above his head, making it difficult for him to see.

“Oh, hi,” Sherlocks says. 

John nearly drops the box in surprise. He puts it down onto the stairs and looks Sherlock in the eyes. He gives him a crooked smile. “Hi.”

Sherlock has to control his knees from giving in under him. John’s hair is ruffled up as if he just rolled out of bed, his eyes seem even bluer than usual, and he’s wearing a soft, beige jumper which makes him look even more charming than usual.

Then, he realises he’s in the way. “Oh, sorry. Go ahead.” He averts his eyes and scrambles to push himself against the wall to let John through. He holds his breath when John subtly brushes past him. Butterflies rise up in his stomach.

“Hey, Sherlock! Do you mind?” Mike is in the doorway, carrying multiple boxes stacked on top of each other.

“Of course,” he says, as he takes some boxes from Stamford.

//

John finds himself surrounded by boxes again, except he is now standing inside his new home. He looks around. It’s no longer the place he visited. It’s  _ home _ . 

He feels the silence sting in the back of his mind. Now that Mike has left, he and Sherlock are left alone in the living room.

“So, tea?” Sherlock says, breaking the silence.

“I would love some, thanks.”

While Sherlock prepares the tea in the kitchen, John looks around the flat once more. He can tell it has been tidied since the last time he was there; perhaps because Sherlock knew that John was coming. He imagines how he would rearrange the living room if he had the chance: he would move the couch from the middle of the room over to the right wall, leaving more space to wander. Perhaps they could even place some comfortable chairs near the fireplace.  _ I will have to talk to Sherlock about that _ , he thinks.

_ Speaking of the devil _ . 

Sherlock walks back in and hands John his tea. They sit in silence for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say.

“So…” John says eventually, trying to get rid of the awkward atmosphere. “I wanted to thank you for letting me move in here.”

Sherlock smiles slightly. “My pleasure.”

“I, er.” John grabs a little package from a bag. “I got you a gift. As a thank-you.”

Sherlock sits up straighter, craning his neck to look at it. “For me?”

“Yes.” He moves closer until he’s sitting right next to him. He hands him the gift.

The gift is small; It fits in the palm of Sherlock’s hand. It feels hard and heavy to his touch, and it is wrapped in an old newspaper scrap. His deducting skills are good enough to have an idea what could be inside, but he stops himself from observing it any further. He wants to be surprised.

He tears open the paper, to reveal: a figurine. An  _ elephant _ figurine, to be exact.

“I saw the lone elephant on your bookshelf last time I was here, and figured it might want a friend,” John explains.

“I love it,” Sherlock whispers.

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve never had…” He looks into his eyes. “Thank you,” he then says.

John smiles and gets up. “Go on; let’s put it on the shelf!”

The figurine fits right in with the other one. Sherlock feels as if a piece had been missing for a long time, and he only just noticed it. 

And he doesn’t just mean the elephant.

“Hey, you play violin?” he hears John say from behind him. He turns around to see that John has picked up his violin. He has a child-like expression on his face when he examines it.

“Yes, I do. Do you want me to play something for you?” Sherlock regrets his words as soon as they escape from his mouth.  _ Why did I say that? _

John’s face lights up. “Of course!”

Sherlock picks up the instrument with trembling hands. He hopes he can still remember how to play with John staring at him. He mentally picks out a song, delicately places his fingers on the strings, and starts playing.

Music fills the flat, starting with a low hum, but gradually becoming faster and louder; the song, though complicated, has a calming nature over it. John feels his heart beat rapidly as he watches Sherlock’s long fingers dance across the strings. The music invades his mind, takes out all emotion, and spills it throughout the room. Sherlock is focused, his eyes closed. John can picture him seeing the notes in his head, and letting his body follow them. The music reaches its crescendo in a slow outro; Sherlock moves his finger to create a vibrato, and delicately moves the bow with swishing movements. John can suddenly feel all the emotion that Sherlock puts into it, and feels overwhelmed by it. 

Sherlock finally opens his eyes and stares into John’s eyes while he drags out the last note.

The time seems to slow as they stare into each other. The world around them comes to a blur. All they can see is those blue eyes: those blue eyes which reveal the complications and different wires of their souls.

They almost don’t notice it when Sherlock’s phone starts ringing. 

Sherlock begrudgingly tears his gaze away and answers the phone. “Hello?”

_ “Hello, brother dear.” _

“Mycroft. What do you want?”

_ “Now, is that a way to greet your brother?” _

“Yes, it is. Now tell me what you want. You wouldn’t be calling me unless you want something.”

John watches as Sherlock listens on the phone. He looks around nervously, suddenly aware of what he was just doing with Sherlock. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, that was my brother,” Sherlock then says.

“What did he say?”

“He wants to  _ come over _ . To meet “the person who is keeping my little brother in tow.” His words, not mine.”

“Oh, okay. What did you tell him?”

“I told him to piss off,” he says. John chuckles. “But he wouldn’t listen. So he’s coming over in about ten minutes…”

“Ten minutes? Do you think I should tidy up?” John asks, eyeing the boxes that are strewn about.

“No, it’s fine. But will you help carry John to my bedroom? Visitors tend to stress her out. Especially my brother.” Sherlock crouches down to be at the cage’s height.

“Are you sure? She’s pretty pregnant, I don’t want to disturb her…”

“After the birth, she’s going to need several days on her own. This might be the last chance you have of holding her for a while. Plus, I think she likes you.”

John treads nearer to Sherlock and the cage. His breathing becomes shallow when he crouches next to Sherlock. He meets Sherlock’s gaze.

“It’s delicate. I don’t want to ruin things as they are. If I pick her up... Won’t it prick me?”

Sherlock swallows. They both know he isn’t just talking about the hedgehog anymore.

“It might… but are you willing to take that risk?”

John nods almost imperceptibly and moves his head closer to Sherlock’s. He glances at his lips. Sherlock leans forward. John can practically feel Sherlock’s breath on his lips.

When the doorbell rings, both of them jump up.

“I’LL GET IT!” Sherlock exclaims and he immediately races downstairs.

John is left sitting on the ground. He buries his face in his hands.  _ What just happened? _

//

“I don’t know why you feel the need to come here without-” Sherlock falls silent when he sees who is at the door.

“Good day to you too, Sherlock. We’re here for the party!” His friends are standing in front of him: Lestrade, Irene, Carla… 

“What are you doing here? What party?” Sherlock stammers. They all exchange a look. “What is it?”

“Your friend Molly called us and told us there was a party here,” Lestrade says.

Sherlock sighs and rubs his temples. “Of course she did,” he mumbles. They all stand there in silence, nobody moving. Waiting.

“Go on then, come in,” Sherlock then says impatiently. They all grin and rush past him, racing upstairs like a couple of kids making their way to a christmas tree.

“Molly, I am going to kill you,” he mumbles to himself.

“You are?” he hears a tiny voice from behind him.

He swivels around to see Molly standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a sweet pink dress and has her hair tied up in a loose bun. She’s smiling at him shyly.

“Oh, no, I’m not, Molly,” Sherlock stammers. “This party is just… a bit of a surprise, that’s all.” He rubs his neck and looks her in the eyes.

“I suppose the best things in life are a surprise, right?” Molly adds. She looks at her feet and shakes her head a little.

Before Sherlock can answer, the doorbell rings once again, nearly startling Molly out of her dainty heels. When he opens the door, he is met with the disapproving stare he knows all too well.

“Hello, Mycroft.”

“Sherlock.” His brother barges in past him, only to come to a halt in sight of a girl. Mycroft turns up his nose. “Brother dear. Who is this…  _ girl _ ?” He looks Molly up and down with a look of disdain.

“That’s Molly. We’re throwing a party for her.”

“A  _ party _ ? Since when do you- I don’t like-”

Sherlock chuckles low and gives his brother a pat on the shoulder. “I told you you shouldn’t come.” He makes his way to the stairs. “Come on Molly, let’s get your party started.”

//

“What’s all this?” John follows the line of guests with his eyes, which house a bewildered stare.

“We’re here for the party!” Carla says excitedly.

“Party…” John trails off. 

Sherlock appears into view from the hallway, a girl following close behind. 

“Sorry John,” he says. “Apparently there has been a party planned in this flat without our knowledge.”

An uncertain smile appears on John’s lips, while he tries to comprehend the sudden change of events. He straightens his back and tries to make his smile more convincing.

“I guess this is a bit of a house-warming party!” He gestures to the boxes on the floor, which are already being used as chairs and coasters.

Sherlock gives John an apologetic smile.  _ Sorry about this. _

John nods.  _ It’s okay. _

“So, I heard that Molly organised this,” Sherlock explains. “Isn’t that right, Molly?”

“Yes, that’s right! I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for all of us to get together and become friends! To start off, I wanted…” This is all Sherlock hears of Molly’s ramblings, before disappearing into the hallway.

John tries to listen to Molly, but can’t. “Er, sorry,” John mumbles and goes after him.

John stops at the top of the stairs when he hears voices down below. He listens carefully, but can only make out fragments of conversation.

“...I never wanted you to … it is none of your business who I … meet him … you have changed … friends … John …”

John leans closer when he hears his own name.  _ Whoever is down there with Sherlock; they’re talking about me. _ He suddenly realises what he is doing. He is eavesdropping on his new flatmate. This is not what he does. He is brave. He respects people’s boundaries.  _ Who is Sherlock Holmes turning me into? _

John takes a deep breath and starts walking down the stairs. He feels exposed; as if he were walking through the streets of London without clothes on. He is driven forward by an invisible force, wanting him to be closer to Sherlock, wanting him to know what Sherlock knows. Wanting to know what he thinks of him.  _ Since when have you wanted that? _

“John?” Sherlock turns his face up to his flatmate, who is lingering on the stairwell.

Another man turns around when he realises John is standing there. His frown and concentrated face melts away. He puts on a polite smile. “You must be John Watson.”

John shakes the man’s hand. “Yes, I am. And you are?”

Sherlock pulls his shoulders up and rubs his arm. “John, this is my brother: Mycroft.”

John takes a step back. He looks the man up and down again. He is wearing a three-piece suit; the hair on his head is thinning; he’s around the same height as Sherlock, if not taller. And he is staring at him as if he is dissecting him with his eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, John. Now- tell me- How come you were in the army at such a young age?”

“I, uh. Wait, Sherlock, you told him about me?”

Sherlock raises his shoulders even higher, as if hoping it will make him disappear. He is averting John’s eyes as he says, “A few words.”

John looks Mycroft in the eyes, not averting eye contact. He takes a deep breath. He straightens his back. Does. not. avert. eye contact.

“I was accepted into the army early because I quit school early. I wanted to do something more useful. I was accepted into a training camp in Afghanistan when I was sixteen. My father was trained there when he was younger, so he managed to convince them to take me.

At the second week there, some older boys noticed my potential and beat me up. I got sent home because of my injuries. There, I got beat up by my father because I was a “failure”. As soon as I had the chance, I fled to London to live on my own. That was a bit more than a year ago. I met Mike Stamford, and he taught me as much as he could for me to get a job at his vet’s office. I studied the necessary things myself, studying and studying every day. Almost all night. I had certain techniques to absorb information faster than a regular student would.”

“That’s how I did all that at such a young age. Any further questions?”

Sherlock gapes at him. He has lowered his shoulders, letting down his arms as all attention is drawn to John. An expression of disbelief, an apology, rests in his eyes.  _ I didn’t know. I’m sorry. _

Mycroft stares at John sternly, before, slowly, a grin spreads across his face. 

“I like you, Watson. That’s some bravery you’ve got there, talking to me like that.”

“Well, maybe you’re just not very frightening,” John states.

Mycroft chuckles. “ _ Yes _ …” 

“Well,” Sherlock interrupts, “now that you’ve met John, how about you go back home? I bet your umbrellas are all missing you,” Sherlock practically pushes Mycroft out the door. 

“I wasn’t done- wait!”

“Goodbye!” Sherlock slams the door behind him. 

The boys are left in silence. Finally, John relaxes. He chuckles. “Well.”

“Well,” Sherlock confirms.

“I suppose we have a party to attend.”

//

“Sherlock? Can I talk to you for a moment?” Lestrade separates himself from the group and gestures Sherlock over to the kitchen. The laughter and lively conversation is muted when he closes the sliding doors behind them.

“What’s going on?”

“I wanted to ask how you and John…  _ came to be _ ?” Greg fidgets with his shirt. There’s a desperation hiding behind his curious look.

Sherlock takes a seat at the counter. “Whatever do you mean?” he asks, pretending not to have observed everything Lestrade is trying to say.

“You know what I’m talking about. You always do, Sherlock. What I meant is; John is now living with you. You two are  _ close _ . How did it happen?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks at him as if he is the most obvious thing on earth. “You’re talking about my brother.”

Lestrade’s eyes grow large and a blush creeps up his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. It’s  _ obvious _ . You and Mycroft have been on several dates but neither of you has made a move. You are too intimidated and my brother is too ignorant of his emotions. Really, I can’t imagine how you two even fell in love?”

“Love?” Lestrade stutters. “You think he loves me?”

“For god sakes, Lestrade. It’s clear as day. You really are ignorant. I’ve got to admit this is a new low for you.”

Lestrade isn’t listening anymore. He’s staring into the distance, mouthing the words  _ he loves me _ to himself. 

“Thank you, Sherlock. I think I have to go now,” he says absentmindedly, smiling to himself. He storms into the hallway before Sherlock can utter another word.

//

“Greg? Are you leaving?” Molly says, turning her doe eyes towards the man in the doorway.

“Yes, I am. It’s getting late. And I have something to do.” He throws on his coat and goes for the stairs. He turns around once more. “I’ll see you soon, Molly, Clara, Irene. And John, congratulations for your thing with Sherlock. He’s a great guy.” He winks and leaves.

“He really is, you know,” Molly says when the flat falls silent again.

John smiles faintly.

//

The flat is filled with a refreshing silence once all the guests have left. John hums a simple melody while Sherlock does the dishes. When they are done cleaning up, Sherlock joins John on the couch. Somehow, the flat feels even more like home now they are left alone together.

“That was a fun night,” John whispers, not wanting to break the comfortable stillness of the flat.

“It was. A bit of a surprise, but fun in the end,” Sherlock whispers back.

John moves a little closer to Sherlock. “It was good to see that Molly got along with everyone. I think they’re all on their way to become good friends.”

Sherlock moves a little closer as well, resting his hand right next to John’s. “We did all that,” he whispers.

“We did. We make quite a team in the end. Right?”

Sherlock nods and leans a little closer. Their chests are nearly touching. He can feel John’s shallow breathing on his skin, creating a warm bubble around the both of them. John closes his eyes and leans a little closer. He can feel their chests move against each other, their heartbeats syncing up.

Suddenly, a tiny scream can be heard from the bedroom. 

Sherlock pushes away as his eyes grow wide. “ _ John _ .” 

He leaps up from the couch, closely followed by John, and runs towards his hedgehog’s alarming cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready?   
> Next chapter will be exciting. As you can see, I updated the chapter count. It will end at eighteen chapters! So there will be two more. Hopefully I can keep that promise. I originally planned for this to be 10 chapters tops!  
> I hope you're still enjoying this. Let me know if you are. For all I know, you've all stopped reading after chapter 9.   
> Okay I'm rambling. See you next week (hopefully)! Thank you for reading <3


	17. I'm here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off last time:  
> John has moved into Baker Street. Before John could have a rest or even unpack some boxes, John and Sherlock heard the hedgehog shrieking from the bedroom...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a bit longer than usual! I really wanted to perfect it, because it is the chapter we've all been waiting for... I hope you enjoy!  
> <3 <3

“Sherlock, I am not discussing this with you. I need you to leave. Right. Now.” John is on his knees, blood on one hand, and a spoon in the other. He is staring up at Sherlock with a demanding look.

“John,” Sherlock cries out. “I cannot leave her. I cannot-” his words fall away as his throat closes up. 

John slumps down further. He tries to keep himself together. To be strong enough for both of them. “I’ve got this under control.” He isn’t sure who he is trying to reassure: Sherlock, or himself.

Sherlock rubs his eyes, causing some stray tears to fall down onto the carpet. “Okay,” he says. His voice is hoarse and full of uncertainty. He nods once more to convince himself, then turns around and leaves.

John is left in the room, feeling as if the walls are closing in on him. The carpet feels soft underneath his legs, but it does nothing to soothe his situation.

_ How did this happen? _

//

When Sherlock and John hear the hedgehog’s distressed calls, the both of them rush towards the source. The breath is knocked out of Sherlock’s lungs as soon as he realises what is unfolding in front of him. John and Sherlock share a look, a look which confirms the fears they were too afraid to speak out loud. 

_ She’s in labour.  _

The hedgehog is lying on her side in her enclosure, staring up at the pair of them with pleading eyes. Sherlock is overwhelmed with a motherly instinct, and his body prepares itself to run to be at his pet’s side. John, however, holds out an arm to stop him, making Sherlock lunge over the blockade, struggling to move.

“Sherlock, listen to me.” John positions himself in Sherlock’s peripheral vision, still pressing his hands against his chest to stop him from moving. When Sherlock finally makes eye contact, he continues: “It is important that you don’t get too close now. She will do fine, but if you get too close, she will get stressed.”

Sherlock nods. “We don’t want her to get stressed.” The response is automatic.

“Exactly.” John turns around, making his way out of the room.

“John?”

John turns around and gives Sherlock a little smile; taking advantage of the effect he knows this has on his friend. “I’ll be right back. Just getting her an extra heat lamp to ensure she’s nice and warm, okay?”

Sherlock stifles a sob. He nods slowly, before looking at his pet again. 

He doesn’t notice John returning to the room and installing the lamp.

After what could have been hours,but must have been mere minutes, he feels someone gently shake his shoulder. He tears his gaze from the hedgehog to look them in the eyes.  _ John _ .  _ What’s he doing here? _

He hears him speak, faintly. He is trying to tell him something, but it feels like he is underwater; the outside world tries to communicate, but he is lost in the sea of oblivion. Drowning. Everything is dimmed.

“Sherlock!” John shakes him once more.

He snaps back to reality, feeling as if he has been violently pulled from the water. Air nearly bursting his lungs, the sound of his name piercing in his numb ears.

“Sherlock, you need to cooperate. Please,” John’s voice almost breaks with the plea. 

“I’m here.” Sherlock shakes his head, trying to get back in focus. “I’m here.”

John clenches his jaw, getting his act back together. “Good. Come, sit on the bed.” He gestures for Sherlock to get up from the ground; Sherlock doesn’t remember sitting down on the floor.

John turns Sherlock’s face towards his to keep him from staring at his pet.

“Where’d you go just then?” John asks, trying not to let his concern leak into his tone.

Sherlock looks at John. His mind still feels like it’s enveloped with fog, but he starts to remember what they are doing here. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “This happens sometimes. When things get… too much.” He tries to focus on his senses. He feels his own hand, clasping his chest, his fingers spread out in an attempt to soothe his beating heart. He feels the soft covers under him. He sees John. John, his hair as messy and charming as before. His eyes, turned darker with an emotion Sherlock can’t grasp. His breathing begins to slow.

“What can we do?” 

“Everything will be alright,” John says. “It usually goes well by itself. Nature will do its job.”

The words are comforting, and yet Sherlock feels as if he isn’t doing enough. He wants to call someone, anyone who can help. He doesn’t want to be in this alone. He doesn’t want his hedgehog to do this alone. He turns his head and looks at John.  _ But we’re not alone. _

“Will you help? If anything goes wrong?”

“Of course.”

//

Sherlock watches his pet position herself differently: half-sitting on her back. John is checking the heat lamp to make sure it functions well. When he’s done, he joins Sherlock in silence. They’re sitting a safe distance from the cage to make sure not to bother her. 

“John is giving birth,” Sherlock whispers. “That sounds so strange to say.”

“Probably because I am also called John,” John teases. They’re sitting close to each other, their arms touching.

Sherlock chuckles, his deep voice rumbling low in his throat. “Probably, yes.”

They gasp when something suddenly starts to move. A dark blob is coming out of his hedgehog. It rolls out in less than five seconds. Sherlock instinctively moves closer to examine him, but John catches his arm to stop him. They stay seated, watching a miracle unfold before their eyes.

Once the blob has come out, the hedgehog bites it gently, causing the protective sac around the creature to break. Different parts of its tiny body can now be distinguished. Little legs, a little snout, and eventually some bright white spines. 

Sherlock’s eyes become glassy and he has to swallow hard when he watches the little hoglet being licked clean by its mother. He hesitantly averts his gaze to see John’s reaction. John, however, isn’t looking at the hedgehogs. He is looking at him, smiling fondly. This sends Sherlock over the edge, causing silent tears to fall between them.

About five minutes later, another blob appears. Mother hedgehog handles it all just as easily as the first one. Sherlock and John watch it happen, ready to spring into action whenever needed. It doesn’t seem needed. After all five hoglets are delivered safely, Sherlock lets out a sigh of relief. 

But the relief came too soon. John jumps up as soon as he sees what happens, while Sherlock stares, frozen in place.

Hedgehog John sniffs the hoglet which had just recently come out of her. She nudges it with her snout. Then, she slowly gets up, causing the other hoglets to squeak at the disappearing of their milk source. The mother ignores the calls and starts to drag the inadequate hoglet out of her nest. She drops it on the ground, then returns to her nest, and the accepted hoglets it bears. With that, leaving the lone hoglet behind.

Sherlock feels as if the air is being sucked out of his lungs. The words that reach him don’t make sense. He must be in shock: surely John isn’t yelling, “Get me a spoon” to him.

John turns to Sherlock, exasperated. The one time that he needs him, that  _ his hedgehog  _ needs him, his mind doesn’t seem to be present. “Sherlock, I’m serious. Get me a spoon!” he tries again. When this doesn’t evoke a response once again, he jumps up, the stillness grating on his nerves. “Fine, I’ll get it myself,” he grumbles.

When he returns with a spoon, Sherlock is still in his place, blinking at the tiny baby hoglet alone on the ground in front of him. John waves the spoon in Sherlock’s view, hoping to get a reaction out of him.

_ A spoon. There it is again. I  _ did _ hear it correctly.  _ As soon as the stray thought floats across his mind, Sherlock springs into action.

“John,” he exclaims. “What’s going on? How can I help? Did we stress her out?” He blurts out all the questions, not caring whether it makes him sound like a fool.

John gazes up at Sherlock. Though he looks at him sternly, he cannot help but let a hint of relief sink through his expression.  _ He’s back. _

He holds out the spoon to Sherlock. “See this?” Sherlock nods reluctantly. “We need to get the hoglet back in the nest, without getting our scent on it. So we-”

“We use the spoon to scoop it up and put it back with its mother,” Sherlock finishes the sentence. John nods and hands Sherlock the spoon. The icy feel of the metal punctuates his nerves: he ignores this. He gently scoops up the hoglet, trying to still his trembling hand. The baby hedgehog is so small, it fits easily on the spoon. When he tries to put the hoglet back in the cage, John growls and bites at her young.

Sherlock flinches and pulls back the spoon, bringing the baby a safe distance from its mother. He casts his gaze towards John, his eyes large in fear. John doesn’t say anything. He’s merely staring at the place where she bit the hoglet. His eyes turn foggy as he thinks. Sherlock has seen that expression on himself before: he’s in his mind palace.

“John? Please,” his voice breaks. He feels abandoned by his two friends, who have turned their backs on him. He feels alone: the feeling overwhelms him, sending tidal waves of emotion over him. He can’t control himself. He puts the spoon with the tiny hoglet on the ground, ignoring the heartbreaking squeaks coming from it. He straightens up and walks over to his flatmate. John is still staring in front of him, a small wrinkle in his brow. Sherlock holds his arms in front of him and puts his hands on John’s shoulders. He shakes them a little. 

“John?” He frowns a bit more and closes his eyes. Sherlock starts to walk in circles around John, taking John with him. He read somewhere that it helps people think. “John.” Sherlock’s voice is affectionate but full of worry. 

Suddenly, John’s eyes snap open. He startles when he sees Sherlock right in front of him, with his hands on his shoulders. Sherlock quickly stops and drops his hands.

“I know what we need to do. But we need to be quick.”

//

“We need to hand-rear the hoglet. The mother is refusing to take care of it, and if we don’t do so ourselves, it will die in no time.” John is hastily catching Sherlock up on his plans, while he carefully picks up the hoglet in his hand. There is fresh blood on its frail body, which now stains John’s hands.

“How are we supposed to do that? We’re not hedgehogs!” Sherlock is pacing across the room. He ruffles his curls and clenches his eyes shut, his breathing shallow.

“I need you to go to the shop and gather some supplies.” John lists all the supplies Sherlock needs to get, and explains what they’re going to have to do. Sherlock’s eyes move hesitantly between John and the tiny hoglet. 

“Sherlock, I am not discussing this with you. I need you to leave. Right. Now.” John is on his knees, blood on one hand, and a spoon in the other. He is staring up at Sherlock with a demanding look.

“John, I cannot leave her. I cannot-”

“I’ve got this under control.” John’s words don’t come out as reassuring as they ought to be, but Sherlock nods anyway, determined to save the little hoglet’s life. He turns around and bolts out the flat.

//

When Sherlock returns, John is sitting on the bed, a tiny hedgehog wrapped up in a blanket in his hands. Another heat lamp is facing them. 

“John, how is it?” he says, drawing the attention to him. There’s an overwhelming worry in his voice.

“He,” John whispers.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t know for sure, because he’s so young, but I’m pretty sure it’s a he.”

“Oh.” Sherlock lowers himself onto the bed and puts a bag full of supplies between them. “How is he? I brought anything I could find, I didn’t know what kind of milk to get him so I got all kinds-” Sherlock stops his ramble when the tiny hedgehog is placed in his hands. His words fall away, and for a moment, the world around him seems to fall away too. He feels as though  _ this _ is it. This is what his entire life has been building up to; this is what all the blows and upheavals in his life were for.

Next to him, John hastily unpacks the bag.  _ Syringe, baby wipes, baby blankets, cow’s milk, goat’s milk, sheep’s milk, oat milk, coconut milk… _

“Sherlock?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’ve bought about every kind of milk there is.” 

Sherlock hesitates, then turns his attention to John. “Yes I did.”

“Why?”

“Well, I didn’t know what kind to get!”

An involuntary smile spreads on John’s lips. “That’s okay.” He bites his lip, trying to remain focused. “It’s a good thing you did; hedgehogs should never drink cow’s milk. But sheep’s milk is pretty close to hedgehog milk, so that’ll do.” He catches Sherlock staring at him with a question on his lips, and adds: “What? I did my research!”

Sherlock casts a look in the direction of his pet, who is half-asleep in her cage, surrounded by four healthy young. He then redirects his gaze towards the frail being in his hands. The contrast is unnerving.

Without another word, John disappears into the kitchen to prepare the milk for the hoglet. The silence weighs heavily on Sherlock’s mind. He chooses to ignore the raging questions which are burning in his mind. He does not want to consider all the things which could go wrong. He’s not sure if he could hold on if he allowed those thoughts to rise from his subconscious. He gently lifts one of the hoglet’s little paws with his finger. Sherlock swallows hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. The paw is so small, so fragile in his hand. The overwhelming need to protect this baby floods over him whenever he lays his eyes on him. 

John returns with a syringe filled with warm milk. He whispers some reassuring words, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear. Sherlock unwraps the hoglet out of his blanket, and hands him over to John. He watches as John cradles the baby on his hand and tries to feed the little one. 

After what must have been half an hour of trying, John finally whispers, “He won’t latch.”

Sherlock’s heart sinks. This hoglet hasn’t had anything to eat in more than an hour. If he doesn’t latch soon, all hope will be lost for him. Worry ploughs through his heart. He takes the hoglet from John and tries it himself. John warms up more milk while he tries. And tries. And tries.

He can tell the hedgehog is trying to feed himself, but he is too weak to latch on and swallow properly.. 

“ _ Come on, buddy. You need to live. Come on. _ ” Sherlock is muttering under his breath. He casts a glance at John. His eyes are falling closed. “John,” he whispers. He gives him a nudge. 

John opens his eyes, the hazy fog of sleep already accumulating over his eyes. He yawns. “You’re tired,” Sherlock concludes. 

John nods sleepily. 

Sherlock sighs. “All right, you can go to sleep. I can still go on for a bit. I’ll wake you once I’m falling asleep so we can change shifts.”

John nods almost imperceptibly, already sound asleep as soon as he receives permission. He puts his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock smiles a little, then casts his attention back to the hungry hoglet.

//

John wakes up to find Sherlock asleep, leaning against him, as his own head rests on Sherlock’s shoulder. He tries to suppress the blush creeping up his cheeks and turns to shake Sherlock awake. Sherlock immediately startles awake, sitting up straight and craning his neck to see what’s going on. “John?”

“We both fell asleep, you idiot,” John says bitterly. 

“That much is obvious,” Sherlock says as he rubs his eyes. John gives him a look. “Sorry,” he adds. He looks at the vulnerable little hoglet, who is sleeping peacefully in his lap. He immediately feels guilty. How could he have fallen asleep while this hoglet needs his help? “ _ What a selfish thing to do _ ,” he mutters. He cradles the little animal in his hand. Then, he freezes. 

“He’s not making any sound,” a groggy voice sounds next to him. Sherlock turns his head to see John, blinking away the bright light of day. He continues, “that can’t be good.”

Sherlock doesn’t listen. A heavy feeling in his stomach grows as he says, “John?” John turns to look Sherlock in the eye. “He’s cold,” he then says.

John inhales sharply when he realises what’s going on. “The heat lamp must have stopped working while we were asleep.”

Sherlock frantically grabs a baby blanket. John stops him from wrapping it around the hoglet, causing Sherlock to look at him in betrayal. “What are you doing?”

“The wound from where John bit him. I thought it was merely a scratch, but if you look on his back…” He gently turns him over, revealing a small wound. “Sherlock, even a small wound like this can be detrimental. He’s probably losing a lot of liquid and will go into shock.”

Sherlock shakes his head, tears pooling in his eyes, and takes the hoglet from John, wrapping him in the baby blanket. “He can’t go in shock. We’ll take care of him. Look, he has a blanket!” All the facts point to the obvious, and yet for once, Sherlock refuses to see it. “He’s going to make it,” he says.

John merely gives him a look. Sherlock ignores the sympathy radiating from those blue eyes.  _ He’s going to make it. _

// 

Sherlock is standing in the kitchen with the hoglet in his hands, gently rubbing its belly. He doesn’t avert his eyes from the small creature, even when those eyes start to shine. 

John sits down at the kitchen table and sighs. His eyes are stinging. He cannot bear to see Sherlock like this. “Sherlock-”

“He’s not going to make it, is he.” 

John casts his eyes to the floor. 

“No.”

Sherlock laughs, an edge to his voice. He nods absentmindedly and puts the hoglet in John’s hands. He starts pacing across the room. He walks back over to the table and pounds the table top with his fist. 

“Well, that’s just great.” He’s trying hard to control his voice.

“Sherlock. Come here. We might not be able to save him, but… we can still say goodbye.” John pulls up the chair next to him and gestures for Sherlock to take a seat.

Sherlock sits down, and once again, the baby hedgehog is put in his hands. Sherlock closes his eyes, his body shaking. 

“If only we hadn’t fallen asleep,” he whispers. 

John shakes his head. “No,” he touches Sherlock’s arm comfortingly, “even if we had stayed awake, he still wasn’t latching, and we were too tired to help.” 

Sherlock nods, though he isn’t sure he is willing to believe John’s words. He looks at the fragile body in his hands. The little hoglet is struggling to breathe. The love in his heart makes it all so much more painful to watch.

He continues to hold him lovingly, even when he watches as the hoglet draws out his last breath.

“He’s gone,” he hears John say. Sherlock clutches on to the hoglet one last time, as if hoping the mere beating of his own heart will make the little one’s heart start again. He puts down the lifeless body and hides his face while silent tears fall down.

“Almost,” he then whispers; the sound muffled through his arms but just about audible.

John’s puts an arm around Sherlock. He hides his face behind Sherlock’s back as his lip trembles and his eyes sting unforgivingly. His words escape before tears can drown them out:

“All we could do was try.”

//

A white flower, resting on a bed of fresh earth. The sun pierces through some dark clouds; the ray of light brings solace to the cool air around them.

Sherlock clears his throat, while John stands beside him, staring stoically in front of him.

“I really hoped-” his voice breaks, making his words fall away. He shakes his head and clears his throat again. “I really hoped we could have had more time. It is unfair how early you were taken from us. We barely had the chance to say hello.” Sherlock smiles sadly, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I hope that, wherever you are - even if I know you are just in the ground, decomposing - that you will find the peace that you hadn’t found in this lifetime.” He can feel a headache come on while the tears struggle to escape. Sherlock damns himself for being this emotional this early on. He ends his speech, knowing far too well he won’t be able to hold back the tears much longer.

Sherlock backs away from the grave to sit on the bench facing it. The mere view of the grave makes his head spin; the idea of John’s newborn son being in the ground, for his fault, and that there is nothing he can do. 

His mind forces the image of the hoglet in his hands onto his mind. The stark contrast between the memory and the grave before him is too much; his shoulders jolt and there’s a lump in his throat; he finds himself sobbing, his body trembling as he makes himself as small as possible.

John sits down next to him. There’s tears in his eyes. He doesn’t allow them to break away. But when he sees Sherlock quivering and nearly curling himself into a ball, something switches in his mind.

It is as if the dam, that has served him so well over the years, finally cracks and breaks at the sight of his friend. He takes a shaky breath as the tears start to stream down his face. 

Sherlock catches his eye, the sadness reflecting John’s own. There is an understanding between them, and for the first time, nothing that hides it. When they share a look, they know.

Without thinking about it any longer, John cups Sherlock’s raw, emotional face and kisses him.

The kiss is messy: their lips taste like salt and the emotions spill between them. However, it immediately takes effect: John can feel Sherlock start to soften in his arms. 

When their breathing finally steadies, John hesitantly breaks away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-” 

His sentence is left unfinished when Sherlock leans in and kisses John back. John melts into the kiss as he accepts the warmth radiating onto his skin. This kiss is carefully coordinated and a lot less rushed. John cherishes the feel of Sherlock’s soft lips on his and their bodies pressing against each other. 

Sherlock then breaks away, blinking fast. “That wasn’t part of the plan,” he says breathlessly. 

John chuckles lightly and turns to lean on the bench’ backrest. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me. This is not the first kiss I had in mind.”

Sherlock turns his head. “ _ First _ ?”

“Well, if you’ll allow it, I would like to do this again properly.”

Sherlock turns away to hide his grin. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

The two of them sit in a comfortable silence, honouring the memory of the small hoglet, while their intertwined hands rest between them.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Hahaaaa! Finally.  
> Sorry for the sadness: I've had it in mind from the start. There's a reason for the title...  
> This one was so interesting to write. I know so much about hedgehogs by now!   
> Fun fact: I actually once witnessed my own cat give birth, so all the reactions Sherlock had are based off my own. I was very stressed out, lol. 
> 
> Anywho. One more to go! I'm so thrilled. I hope you're all enjoying it as much I am! (Even if I made you sad just then...)  
> Thank you so, so much for reading. I really do appreciate it. <3 <3


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time there's a paragraph break (//); that signifies that time has gone by since the last scene. Whether that be an hour, a day, or two months; that is up to you to decide. :)

Sherlock breathes slowly and soothingly when his lips land on John’s. He melts under the touch of John’s hand, which is resting in the nape of his neck, tenderly playing with the curls in his neck. The simple act of having his lips on John’s leaves him completely and utterly bewildered, and yet he finds himself wanting more; he wants to press John closer into him. For there to be no space between them. But he has all the time in the world, so he settles for putting his hand on John’s waist and pulling himself a little closer.

John can’t help but smile during their snog, not even daring to let go for a moment. He puts his palm on Sherlock’s chest and lightly pushes him into the soft couch. He gets closer, causing their chests to touch and their legs to interlock. Sherlock smiles, and they momentarily have to pull back from the kiss when they both can’t hold back their grins. John rests his forehead against Sherlock’s and sighs blissfully. 

This is all he ever wanted; to have a long, perfect, uninterrupted kiss with Sherlock.

“You certainly make do on your promises,” Sherlock breathes.

“I’m not done yet,” John whispers, before he resumes their make-out session. Sherlock smirks and pulls John closer, gladly accepting the invitation.

//

John looks at the box, his hands on his hips. It is the only box left standing in the living room.

“Last one, then? Where should it go?” Sherlock appears on John’s right side. He passes him and crouches near the box to read what it says.

“ _ Bedroom _ ,” they say in unison.

Sherlock casts his look down to his feet. “There’s another bedroom upstairs-”

“Will we be needing two?” John interrupts. Sherlock looks up at him. He seems nervous.

“Whatever you want.”

John smiles and takes the box from Sherlock. He carries it down the hall.

//

John cuddles a little closer to Sherlock, feeling his chest rise and fall under his hands with every slow breath that he takes. He leans into Sherlock’s touch. His eyes flutter closed when the hand runs down his back; the carefully orchestrated movements of the violinist make his skin tingle.

When he opens his eyes, he finds Sherlock looking at his hedgehog and the little ones that surround her. John sits up a little straighter to look Sherlock in the eyes. Sherlock returns the favour, his pupils dilating when his gaze rests on him.

John’s voice is sleepy and his question whispered. “Why didn’t you ever rename her when you found out?”

Sherlock chuckles. His voice is low and deep, making John’s heart beat faster. “Do you mean when I found out she was a girl? Or when I found out about you?”

John shakes his head lightly. “Either.”

Sherlock redirects his gaze towards his hedgehog. “I don’t know. I suppose she’ll always be John to me.”

“What am I to you, then?”

“Hmm.” Sherlock doesn’t avert his eyes. “Also John?”

“What about…” John picks up Sherlock’s chin and guides his face towards him. “Your boyfriend?”

Sherlock’s face lights up. He takes John’s hand in his. 

“Is that good enough for you?” he whispers.

John grins and whispers back: “It’s perfect.”

Before John can kiss him, Sherlock quickly turns to pick something off the coffee table. John watches him scribble something on a post-it. Before he can read what it says, Sherlock puts the post-it on his forehead and immediately attacks John with a kiss.

After a moment of snogging, John pulls back so he can read what it says. When he reads it, he immediately leans in and kisses Sherlock some more.

_ Boyfriend _ .

//

John whistles, a slight spring in his step while he strolls through the streets of London. One hand is settled in his pocket to protect it from the icy sting of the wind, while the other carries a bag full of groceries. 

He’s nearly home when he hears someone calling out.

“Stop right there,” a familiar voice says.

John freezes. His mind instantly flies up to the last time he was threatened on the street. He breaks out in a cold sweat. He straightens his back and swivels around.

It’s Molly.

“John! Fancy running into you here!” Three other girls flock behind her. On closer inspection, John realises it’s Irene, Carla and another girl, whom he doesn’t recognise.

“Molly!” John forces himself to relax a little. “How nice to see you all again. Though, I don’t think  _ we _ ’ve met,” he adds, holding out his hand to the unfamiliar girl. 

She takes it. “Kate.” She brushes a lock of her auburn hair out of her face and bats her eyes at him.

“Kate’s my new friend!” Molly states enthusiastically. 

Irene takes Kate’s hand in hers. “And  _ my _ girlfriend.”

John nods along while Molly chats about something concerning friends, parties and cats. He stands awkwardly, the bag in his hand suddenly feeling a lot heavier than before. He can’t wait to be back home.

“Oh, John, how are you doing? It’s been a while since we last hung out! Oh, and how’s Sherlock? How’s living with him?” Molly rambles.

John clears his throat. “Actually, there  _ is _ some news about that.” The girls nod eagerly, hoping for some good gossip.

“We’re in a relationship. Boyfriends, if you will.”

The girls don’t immediately respond, as he had expected. Instead, they merely stare at him. They exchange a few glances, before Molly offers a response:

“...and?”

John looks at them, frowning. Then, he remembers how he and Sherlock had tricked Molly into thinking they were a couple. He sighs at his own idiocy.

“You’re right. You all knew that. Well, it’s official now anyway. I should- um. Nice to see you all.” He turns on his heel and gets out of their sight as soon as possible.

//

When John comes home, Sherlock is sitting on the ground next to the hedgehog beds. He is holding one of the babies. 

“Come look at this,” Sherlock says. He doesn’t even look up.

John drops the groceries and sits next to Sherlock. He places a hand on Sherlock’s leg and gently strokes the hoglet with his other hand. He stares at it lovingly. 

“It is  _ so _ cute.”

Sherlock places a kiss on John’s cheek and hands over the hoglet. 

“So are you,” he whispers in his ear, before getting up and walking to the kitchen.

John blushes and his heart beats fast. He can’t fight back the smile that forms as he watches the little hedgehog in his hands.

//

Sherlock is greeted by a big hug as soon as he leaves the building. He pulls back to see John staring up at him, beaming, wearing his fancy suit, which definitely could have used some ironing. Not that he minds.

John pulls out a bouquet of flowers from between them, which is all but crushed by now.

“Congratulations,” he says with a smile as he hands them over.

Sherlock takes the bouquet and hugs John some more. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, just loud enough for John to hear in their embrace.

When he detaches himself from the embrace, John spots a man looking at the two of them resentfully. He instantly recognises him from Sherlock’s descriptions: it’s Professor Becker. Sherlock doesn’t seem to notice him yet, so John pulls him into a passionate kiss.

When they pull back, Sherlock has a dazed expression with a goofy smile on his lips. John looks once more and sees that the professor has left. Satisfied with the result, he locks Sherlock’s arm in his and they start to walk home.

“Can I see it?” John asks. Sherlock hands him the certificate. He admires it, then turns his head to admire his boyfriend. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Sherlock smiles and interlocks their fingers.

Just then, they run into someone they recognise.

“Mrs Hudson!” they exclaim nearly at the same time.

Mrs Hudson is walking towards them, her expression as loving and motherly as before. 

“Boys! How good to see you again! I’m sorry I can’t stop for a proper chat; I have somewhere to be.” She halts for a moment to examine them. She smiles. “But I’m glad to see you two are doing well.” She nods at their interlaced hands and winks. She then hurries off, giving them one last wave.

When she’s out of sight, Sherlock smirks. “That woman was right,” he mumbles.

“What?” 

He gazes at John with a faint smile on his lips, then turns his head again.

“Nothing.” He gives his hand a squeeze and they continue walking.

//

Sherlock emerges from the kitchen with two cups of tea. “John?”

“Hmm.” John doesn’t look up from his laptop.

“I believe we’ve both got the night off tonight.”

John takes his eyes off the screen to look at him. “Are you sure?”

Sherlock smirks. “Yes. I just checked our schedules.”

John closes the laptop and puts it away, as a dangerous sparkle flashes in his eyes.

Sherlock continues: “We can stay in, watch a film, cuddle, have s-”

“Or we could call Lestrade for a case,” John interrupts.

“...Yes, that’s better.” 

Sherlock already has the number dialed.

//

“That was great.”

“It really was!”

Sherlock and John are strolling around the crime scene, the cool air refreshing their tired minds. John squeezes Sherlock’s hand softly and places a kiss on his cheek. Sherlock feels the back of his neck burn a bright red.

_ I wonder if the effect he has on me will ever fade _ , Sherlock thinks. He looks into John’s soft blue eyes, which burn with adoration.

_ I hope not. _

“Sherlock!” Lestrade beckons him from a distance.

Sherlock strolls over. “Hello Lestrade,” he greets. John is standing not far behind them.

“That was a good one, wasn’t it? You were quicker with your deductions than usual.”

“You probably have John to thank for that. He’s a great help.”

Lestrade nods and looks between Sherlock and John. “Speaking of help… Thank you, Sherlock.”

“It’s okay, Lestrade. Paying me for these cases is help enough.”

“No, I meant…” Lestrade shakes his head with a smile. “Thank you for helping me with your brother. I know it can’t be easy seeing your brother get with someone you know, but… Your help has really been useful.”

Sherlock nods absentmindedly. He looks over at John, lost in thought. 

“Are you happy with him?” he then asks.

Lestrade can’t keep the smile on his face from spreading wider. “I really am.”

As if on cue, Mycroft strolls up to Lestrade and puts his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. 

Lestrade freezes for a moment, but relaxes when he recognises the familiar feeling. He turns his head and kisses Mycroft affectionately.

Sherlock takes this as his cue to leave and walks back over to John.

“Isn’t that sweet?” John says, momentarily looking at the couple before looking his boyfriend in the eyes.

“It’s horrid,” Sherlock states.

John raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he teases. John then stands behind Sherlock, puts his arms around his waist, and —once Sherlock’s turned his head— starts kissing him passionately.

Once John pulls away, Sherlock’s cheeks are flushed and his pupils are dilated. He swallows and steadies his breathing, then finally answers the question.

“I suppose it’s not so bad if you do it…”

“Mmm. Thought so.” John stands on the tips of his toes and pecks Sherlock on his nose. 

“Let’s go home.”

//

Sherlock breathes in and out slowly. The TV illuminates the room, but it has been muted and doesn’t attract his attention. John’s body feels warm on his own. 

He gazes at his boyfriend, who has fallen asleep on his chest. His heart flutters at the sight. His belly is warm and full after the dinner they shared. He is so surrounded with warmth and love; he never imagined that his life could look like this. 

John. His best friend. His boyfriend. No one has ever understood and supported him as he has. Never in his wildest dreams could he have wished for someone as amazing as John.

He isn’t doing anything; there was no case tonight, no test to prepare for, no party to attend… He remembers a time when nights like these would be a danger night. Nights when he had to resort to drugs to cure his boredom. 

But right now, he doesn’t feel bored. When he has John in his arms, nothing else matters; he finally feels a sense of serenity.

He gently kisses John on the top of his head, and closes his eyes.

His heart is full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading this story! Please let me know if you enjoyed it. :)  
> I want to thank @Ionelywatson on twitter once more, because without their prompt about Sherlock owning a hedgehog named John, this all never would have happened!  
> And of course thank you to Lisa4Language for being my beta, and my wonderful friend. <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!! <3 <3 <3  
> p.s. I made a painting for this story to celebrate the end! You can check it out on my twitter @sprinkledoodler .


End file.
